Lessons Learned
by HollidayMourner
Summary: Arthur has himself a little crush - on the school's hottest and most talented athlete. Naturally, of course, since Alfred F. Jones is nothing if not a giant walking mass of testosterone, muscle, and body hair. Alfred can have anyone he wants (girls, boys, and school officials alike), but his attention is cast on the strange foreign kid after the football team causes him some grief.
1. Locker Room

**A/N: My intention, at the beginning of writing this, was not to turn it into a full-fledged story. It was originally going to be a collection of oneshots that all shared a similar theme - bears. Big, hairy, gay men. It was also supposed to be a collection of oneshots involving different pairings, and the main characters' obsessions with these bears. That idea, obviously, was thrown out the window.**

 **On that note, I have turned this idea into a chaptered story. I realize this particular chapter is a little on the short side, but I'm hoping to be able to post something to this story at least once a week, so the remaining chapters may continue to be this short. However, I will try my best to write a little something every day so the chapters can have more length to them.**

 **This story used to go by the name "Bear," but I have changed it to "Lessons Learned." I feel like this title fit better than the previous one.**

 _Oh, God, he's not wearing a shirt_ , Arthur thought to himself in a panic as he tried to turn away from the beautiful blonde man walking his way. The white towel was wrapped around his waist tightly, the man's dark blonde happy trail disappearing underneath. Arthur couldn't turn away as his eyes traveled up the man's body, his sun-kissed skin stretched taut over the toned muscles of his stomach, his arms. A thick bed of hair decorated the man's chest, laying flat against the damp skin.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the man's pointed chin, strong jaw, and upturned lips. Sweat gathered on Arthur's palms as his eyes traveled up, landing on the sky blue eyes of the other. His glasses were missing, having been put away in the locker before he had taken his shower. Withouth the glasses, the man's eyes seemed wider, as if he were a deer caught in headlights.

Alfred Jones.

Arthur managed to force his body to turn away as Alfred came to a stop directly beside him. He could feel his heart beating erratically, could feel Alfred's body heat.

Alfred bumped his hip against Arthur's side. Arthur jumped away, yelping in surprise at the contact. His hand flew immediately to the area Alfred had bumped into, his eyes widening as he realized several things at once:

1) Alfred Jones, his first crush since moving to America (maybe in all his life, he wasn't quite sure at the moment), had just touched him,

2) He had just made probably the girliest noise in the world,

and 3) the entire locker room was staring at him as if he had two heads, and a few were beginning to laugh.

Arthur could feel the color rising to his cheeks as his gaze switched between Alfred, who was turning around to face him, and the small group of jocks who had gathered by the showers to ridicule him.

"Oh, I'm sorry dude. Didn't see you there," Alfred apologized as the jocks' laughter rose, infecting the other students within the locker room.

With tears in his eyes, Arthur shot an accusatory glance at Alfred, then turned and ran out into the hallway, his books held painfully against his chest. He could hear the jocks' taunting laughter trail after him as he ran to his locker, rummaging through the neat stacks of books to find his car keys. It was only sixth period, but he didn't have the courage to face the next two classes.

Especially since those next two classes were shared with Alfred.

* * *

Arthur immersed himself in homework. He had sent emails to the teachers of the classes he had skipped, explaining about an imaginary stomach bug that had caught him in the middle of gym class. His homework had been emailed to him, and for that, Arthur will forever thank the heavens that he established himself as a "teacher's pet," since the last two classes of the day had the hardest and meanest teachers in the school.

Arthur's pencil was gripped lightly between his teeth as he studied the page of text before his eyes. As he concentrated, the words blurred before him and his memory of the incident in the locker room clouded his mind. Arthur remembered the jeering faces of the other men in the room, how they laughed and mocked the noise that he had let slip out.

As Arthur felt himself slipping further into the memory, his phone pinged. Shaking his head roughly, he reached forward and grabbed the device. He had a text message, and the sender of the message shocked him so bad he gasped aloud. His grip loosened on the phone, the device beginning to slip from his fingers as he read the name over and over, trying to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming.

Alfred.

Arthur opened the text and, without even bothering to read the message his crush had sent, he typed out a quick question: **How did you get my number?**

 **Dude, we exchanged numbers one time in English so you could help me with the homework, remember?** was the response a few seconds later. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Of _course_ that was how he had his number. How could he even forget? That was when Arthur had started fawning over the young blonde, back when the Brit had still been new to the school and the community.

Feigning nonchalance, England sent an indifferent message back to the young blonde: **Must have slipped my mind. What did you need?** He set the phone back down on the floor, gripping his pencil extra tight in his hand so he didn't immediately reach for the phone when it buzzed again.

 **I wanted to take you for dinner. Apologize for earlier.**

Arthur did a double-take. Alfred Jones wanted to apologize to him? But whatever for? He sent the message back and this time waited with bated breath for the man's reply, hoping that he wasn't hallucinating when the response popped up on his screen.

 **The dudes weren't cool earlier with how they mocked you like that. It continued for the rest of that day, and because it was kind of my fault, I wanted to make it up to you.**

Arthur's heart felt like it would explode. Alfred and him on a date? It was too good to be true. _This is not a date, you twit_ , Arthur reminded himself brutally. _He's just trying to make up for a mistake because he feels sorry for you._ Arthur's delighted mood dropped a little after that, but he still was curteous enough to send back a confirmation text message.

 **Coolio. Be ready by 6. I'll pick you up.**

Arthur's heart was thrumming in his chest as he sat on the edge of the sofa. As soon as he had sent Alfred the message containing his address, Arthur had tried to focus on his homework, but all he could think about was his date with Alfred.

 _Not a date, you twit_ , he reminded himself violently.

There was a honk outside his house. Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin, but when his phone pinged with a message from Alfred, Arthur forced himself to try and calm down.

"I'm going out, Ma!" he called to his mother in the kitchen. "Don't wait up for me, okay?"

"It better be with someone hot!" his mother called back, a girlish giggle following him outside as he closed the front door with a loud bang.

 _Gods, she's so embarrassing. Besides,_ Arthur thought as he slid into the passenger seat of Alfred's pick-up truck, _he's definitely a hot one._

 **A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Please let me know what you think in a review. I will try to reply to all of them. If you review as a Guest, I will respond to your review in the beginning of the author's note in the next chapter.**


	2. Date Night

**A/N: This chapter is longer than I had intended, and a new character is introduced, which I had also not foreseen. However, I think this little side road in the plot will benefit the story in the future.** **I'm also posting this earlier than I had intended because I got too excited to wait another two days. My goal for new chapter updates will be between Wednesday and Friday, but don't hold me to that because I have a tendency to forget about my stories when I become too stressed from work and things like that.**

 **If you have an recommendations for the story, I would love to hear about them. I love reading your feedback, and I appreciate it when you guys give me ideas that I could possibly use in my current or future stories.**

 **Without further ado, I give you the second chapter in my newest story "Lessons Learned." I hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to review and let me know what you think afterwards. Goodnight and have a wonderful day!**

If Arthur had considered this a date before, that notion had completely gone from his mind. On the ride to their destination, he had imagined a nice dinner in a somewhat fancy restaurant, or at least a place with a little bit of class. He had even allowed himself to entertain the thought of a movie to go alone with the dinner. But, no.

Arthur was sitting at a corner booth in the town's only McDonald's.

Alfred had been horrified at the fact that Arthur had never eaten at his favorite fast food restaurant, so he had taken it upon himself to order "only the best of the best" from the menu. The small mountain of food piled on the table between the two high school boys looked to Arthur as if it could feed an army of starving children. It also smelled like he had stepped into a vat of grease, but he wouldn't dare say that out loud.

A carton of chicken nuggets sat, opened but untouched, in front of the Brit as he listened to Alfred talk about that day's practice. Arthur couldn't understand a word the young man was saying, but he nodded his head, smiled, and congratulated Alfred whenever he thought it necessary, which was more often than not considering Alfred was the most successful player on the team.

Alfred's eyes lit up whenever he talked about a successful catch or touchdown he had made that day, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to look away from the boys' face as he talked. Arthur was entranced by the way Alfred talked, the football player's hands flying through the air as he demonstrated for Arthur how exactly he had caught the ball and evaded his teammates long enough to reach the end zone. He even went so far as to imitate a crowd's cheer.

Listening to Alfred speak made it easier for Arthur to forget about his embarrassing episode from earlier that day. Even though the only reason he was spending any time with his crush was because the other wanted to make up for the football team's harsh behvaiour, Alfred has yet to mention that incident at all, and for that Arthur was grateful. He didn't know what he would do if Alfred brought it up, and he frankly didn't want to find out. When it came to speaking with Alfred, Arthur always lost control of his motor and speech skills, and he couldn't trust himself to communicate like a normal human being.

Which is why, when Alfred asked about his abscence in the last two classes of the day, Arthur flinched from surprise and tripped over his tongue as he tried to come up with an excuse. He couldn't exactly tell him it had been because he was too embarrassed to face him. If he did that, then he would need an explanation; an explanation that wasn't the truth.

Alfred watched Arthur as he struggled to come up with an answer, and the weight of Alfred's eyes on him made it more difficult to think. Saying the first thing that came to mind was usually a practice he despised, but in situations like this, he allow himself the slip.

"I just didn't feel like going, is all," Arthur stated, shrugging his shoulders for effect and hoping his lie wasn't too obvious. He kept his gaze down as he stuffed a chicken nugget into his mouth to keep himself from talking anymore.

The problem was, Alfred wasn't talking after that, either.

Growing nervous, Arthur looked up from his food, a chicken nugget half hanging out of his mouth as his eyes searched Alfred's face for a reaction. The blonde jock had his head tilted to the side, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging slightly open. Arthur began to panick, wondering if Alfred had seen right through him to the embarrassment, or if he had actually believed him.

"Dude. I never thought you would be the type to ditch. Especially since Mrs. Ritter and Mr. Cambin are the meanest teachers ever. Do you realize how much work you're going to have to do tomorrow, just because you missed class?" Alfred's eyes were wide as he talked, the disbelief etched deeply into his expression.

Shocked that he had actually believed him, Arthur shrugged once again. "Sometimes I just don't feel like dealing with it all, you know?" The nonchalance was forced, and Arthur was afraid that it was obvious. If anything, he hoped Alfred would take it as him being nervous about skipping for the first time.

Alfred nodded his head. "I understand. Sometimes the coach and the rest of the team drive me crazy and I need to get away, too. Speaking of the coach, I didn't tell you what he did to Ritter's son, did I?"

And with that, Alfred launched into yet another story about that day's football practice. Arthur used the distraction as an excuse to forget about his food (which had grown cold and inedible in his opinion) and pushed it to the side. Arthur's elbows were on the table, propping his head up as he listened intently to Alfred's story. He lost track of the time as he listened, and briefly remembered that he still had a pile of homework to finish, but then Alfred's eyes sparkled again and his attention was drawn away from school and back to the handsome man sitting across from him.

* * *

It was two in the morning, and Arthur was sneaking in through his bedroom window. He had never given the large oak tree outside his window much thought, and neither had his parents for that matter, but the old tree sure did come in handy. And it helped, too, that the roof from the floor below extended past the window, almost to the edge of the tree, so it gave Arthur some leverage and grounding when he was climbing from the tree into his bedroom.

When he was safely inside the house, Arthur collapsed on the floor, not from exhaustion, but from relief. A smile spread across his face so large it hurt his cheeks. He didn't have a curfew, but he had prided himself on the fact that he was always home and in bed by a certain time, respecting the curfew of the town and his parents' wishes for him to be safe and smart.

Arthur's phone pinged in his hand. He looked at it in confusion. Alfred wasn't going to message him that soon after saying goodbye, so who on Earth would be talking to him this late at night?

Bringing the phone up to read the screen, Arthur rolled his eyes. Francis, the obnoxious French college student who lived next door to him, had sent him a message inquiring about his whereabouts that evening.

Arthur contemplated not responding and just going to bed. It wasn't like him and Francis were actually friends. The man was three years older than him, and had this strange obsession with the Brit. It creeped Arthur out, and it had ever since he had moved to that town, but the need to talk about his date (not-date) was greater than his dislike for the Frenchman.

Arthur sent a text telling the man about his date, and not even five minutes later, there was a soft knock at his window. Still laying on the floor of his bedroom, Arthur lifted his hand and motioned for Francis to come inside.

"How dare you cheat on me, you British little tramp?" Francis called quietly from the window. His body hung halfway in the room, his eyes narrowed and bottom lip puffed out in a pout.

Arthur rolled his eyes and sat up, scooting back so he was resting against the bed. "I can't cheat on you if we aren't a couple, you frog. Besides, nothing happened anyway."

Francis cocked his head to the side in confusion and climbed the rest of the way into the bedroom. "Isn't sleeping with each other on the first date the American custom?"

Arthur glared over at Francis, regretting his decision to allow the Frenchman to come over as his mind filled with images of him and Alfred doing more-than-friendly things. His cheeks burned red as he tried to fight off the images, but with Francis sitting beside him and describing all the things he had done on dates with women and men alike, the images grew more and more intimate and there was nothing Arthur could do about it.

"Is he hot?" Francis's question had thankfully yanked Arthur from his imagination, and the flustered Brit looked at his neighbor shyly, wondering briefly is the man could read his mind. When he deemed that thought silly and impossible, he cleared his throat and answered Francis's question with a squealy confirmation.

"He's the hottest man I ever laid eyes on," Arthur eleaborated, sighing as he remembered how Alfred's had lit up while he talked. He remembered the man's naked, damp chest and how you could see the goosebumps on his arms after he had gotten out of the shower. His cheeks flushed red again as he remembered the heat readiating from Alfred's body, and how his bare skin had bumped against Arthur.

Francis had noticed the change in Arthur's attitude and smirked at him. "Are you sure you two didn't do anything tonight? Do your parents know how much of a horny little tramp you are, Arthur?"

Even though Arthur knew Francis was only joking, he couldn't help but think about what his parents would think and do if they knew about the thoughts crossing his mind. All those inappropiate thoughts flew from his mind as he pictured instead his father's disapproving expression and the lecture that was sure to follow about how school was more important than getting laid - especially if that person he was laying with was a man.

Cringing, Arthur climbed onto his bed and pulled the blankets over himself. "I don't really want to talk about them, Francis," he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow and breathing deeply.

Francis nodded, laying on his side and curling up into a ball. "I understand perfectly, mon ami. We'll just sleep now."

And even though he said they were going to sleep, Francis talked well into the early morning about anything and everything, making sure that Arthur dreamt about anything other than whatever had been going through his mind when he had mentioned his parents.


	3. Late

**A/N: So I have decided to make Francis a permanent character, and he will appear more often within the chapters from now on. I just love how him and Arthur act with each other and can't resist writing them together. Arthur's family dynamics are a little strange, but they will be explained later on in the story. I also realize now that I had forgotten to put in a little warning abut Francis's mouth and his language in the last chapter, but I shouldn't have to, right? Since everyone here I'm hoping doesn't get too offended by language, since you have all watched the original series. But, just in case, your heads up is right here:**

 **Francis will continue to be creepy, perverted, and may continue to use slightly off-color language.**

 **I hope you guys enjoy this new chapter, and don't forget to drop me a review letting me what you think.**

The kitchen table was set for three, but neither Arthur or his father were anywhere to be seen yet that morning. Alice set the plate of bacon she had in her hands down on the table and looked at the clock above the refrigerator. 7:03. If they waited any longer, they wouldn't be able to have breakfast as a family. Again.

Just then, Arthur's father came down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. He took a piece of buttered toast off the plate that was there and kissed his wife on the forehead before taking a huge bite.

"You're not staying to eat with Arthur and me?" Alice asked as her husband made his way to the living room closet. With the piece of toast hanging out of his mouth, he shook his head.

"I have to get to the office and set up for the meeting. I should have been there maybe twenty minutes ago," he explained once his suit jacket was on and the toast was back in his hand.

Alice nodded, having forgotten about his important meeting. She left the kitchen and joined her husband at the front door, kissing him on his cheek and handing him the car keys. "Knock 'em dead, dear."

With a grunt, he nodded briefly and looked around the living room. "Where's the boy? Doesn't he have school today?"

"He hasn't come downstairs yet. He might be running a little late, is all. Do you want me to go get him?"

Arthur's father pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning around the bit of toast in his mouth. "I can't afford to be any later than I already am. Whenever he wakes up and is ready, he'll just have to walk to school." And with that, he left.

Alice sighed. The mornings were never smooth in the house, but they were never that complicated, either. She hoped Arthur wasn't sick, and she hope he wouldn't be too upset when she told him that his father had left him to walk to school that morning. She also hoped he was awake and ready, so he wouldn't be too late.

Arthur's bedroom was at the end of the hall, the farthest away from the top of the stairs. Alice turned towards his door and noticed that the bedroom light was shining from inside the room. Agitated at the thought that he was awake and had taken this long to get ready and come downstairs, Alice marched to the door and threw it open.

She expected to find Arthur packing up his backpack, or even talking on his cellphone to the friend he had gone out with last night, but what she actually saw was a different story.

Her boy was still wrapped up in his blanket, head burrowed in between his pillows. The neighbor's son was curled up in an uncomfortable-looking ball on the floor.

They were both still sound asleep.

Alice's agitation left her at the sight, replaced instead with her motherly concern for her son. She wondered if something had happened last night, and if Francis was somehow involved. Stepping into the room, her eyes roamed the room searching for anything amiss. Arthur's homework and pencils were scattered across the floor in the corner of the room; his backpack was thrown over the back of his computer chair, opened and emptied out of its belongings; his cellphone was laying, uncharged, on the floor a few feet away from the open window.

Open window? Alice's concern for her son was replaced by a brief moment of rage as she made her way across the room. Right outside the window was the roof to the floor below, and right beside the roof was the only tree that the property claimed, which had actually been the deciding factor in picking that specific house. It was a beautiful oak tree. The realization that this oak tree was how Arthur had managed to sneak in the neighbor's kid almost made the tree ugly, but she couldn't blame the tree itself for the perverted use her son had used it for.

Alice gripped the edge of the window and slammed it shut, turning the lock before turning back around to face her son.

Arthur groaned and lifted his hands, pulling the pillow against his head. "Whosthere?" he mumbled, rolling closer to the wall and curling up in a ball.

"It's your mother. You're late for breakfast and have to get ready for school." Alice's voice was harsher than she intended, but she managed to get Arthur out of bed. He shot up, tangling himself in his blankets even more. He struggled for a few seconds before giving up and looking at his mother apologetically.

"Can you save me some breakfast so I can eat it on the way to school?" he asked as he tried to tame his hair with his hands.

Alice thought about telling him that she had already thrown out the food, but Arthur would have seen through that lie, even if he had just woken up. After all, neither Alice nor her son were very good liars, and it was always painfully obvious whenever one of them tried. "I'll put some away for you, and if you manage to wake up your friend, I can make him a plate, as well, since the table is already set for three."

That last comment didn't escape Arthur's notice, but when he asked his mother about it, she just shushed him as she made her way back across the room. "You have to get ready for school and wake up Francis." The bedroom door closed with a click.

Arthur looked over the side of his bed, where Francis was still curled up in a ball and sleeping soundly. _Man, the guy sure can nap_ , Arthur thought as he leaned over to try and wake up his friend. His legs were tangled in his blankets, and his arms were trapped, so when he went to reach out the only thing he succeeded in doing was throwing himself off the bed and onto the sleeping man on the floor.

Francis yelled tiredly, and Arthur tried to kick his way out from his blankets with no luck.

"Arthur, what in the world are you doing?" Francis snapped, groaning in pain as he stretched the soreness out of his muscles. "Why is the light on? What time is it?"

Arthur was still trying to save himself from his blankets as Francis was stretching. He finally gave up and laid on the floor in defeat, his eyes landing on his cellphone. "Hey, Francis, can you give me a hand?"

Francis glanced down at Arthur, wrapped up like a blanket burrito on the floor, struggling to get an arm free. He repressed his laughter as he crouched beside Arthur, his hands groping the blanket to try and find one of the edges.

"Don't touch me there, you pervert!" Arthur yelled as he continued to try and kick his way from the blankets. Francis's hands were roaming along Arthur's legs, and he had "accidentally" pinched the Brit's butt in his search.

Francis's chuckle sent shivers down Arthur's spine. "My apologies, my dear. But I can't seem to tell where one part of your body begins and another ends because of all these blankets. What on Earth did you do while you were sleeping?"

Arthur grumbled as Francis's fingers continued to prod against his body. He was beginning to wonder just how long he had been wrapped up in the blanket, laying on his floor, when Francis exclaimed and jumped to his feet. When Arthur looked over his shoulder, Francis was standing above him, the corner of the large comforter gripped tightly in his hands.

"I have found it, mon ami!" Francis exclaimed. "Now hold on, because I am going to have a lot of fun with this."

Before Arthur could even begin to process what Francis had said, he was being tossed across the bedroom floor, rolling along as the blanket came undone from around him. When the blanket was fully unraveled, Arthur laid on his floor for a few seconds to catch his breath. He made a note of how close he was to his dresser, no more than six to ten inches between him and the large piece of furniture.

"How big of a blanket do you need?" Francis asked in surprise as he stared at the King size blanket that was bundled up in his arms. "You're a small man, and you sleep on a small bed."

Arthur grumbled as he stood, closing the distance between him and Francis to grab the blanket from the man's arms. "I like to be cozy, you twat. Now leave my room so I can get dressed. Mother is waiting for me downstairs."

"And me," Francis stated haughtily as he sat on the edge of Arthur's bed. "I heard her say there was food. I'm hungry. You weren't nice to me last night, so I deserve to be fed. And your mother's cooking is amazing."

Arthur turned away from his closet and stared at Francis with his mouth hanging open, a fresh shirt hanging from his hand. "I was nice enough to let you into my bedroom at two in the morning, and I didn't make you get out when I went to sleep. What other way could I have been nicer?"

"By letting me sleep in your bed, mon amour," Francis purred. He laid back on Arthur's bed and spread his arms wide, humming in contentment as he felt the mattress sink beneath him.

Arthur tossed his shirt onto the edge of the bed and turned towards the full-length mirror that was hanging on the wall beside the closet. He looked down at his rumpled jeans, wondering if he should even bother changing. Arthur turned back toward Francis, who had curled up on his bed and was beginnign to drift back to sleep.

When Arthur looked over his shoulder, he also saw the pile of books and papers that he had laying on his floor on the other side of the room. His homework from the day before.

"Shit," Arthur breathed under his breath. He turned towards Francis, deciding that he could wear the sme jeans for another day and not have to worry about it. "Francis, get up and go put all my homework in my backpack. I'm late. I'm so late. I have to get dressed." Arthur turned around again to take off his shirt and toss it into the hamper at the end of his bed. When he turned back towards the bed to grab his clean shirt, Francis was still laying in the bed.

Frustrated, Arthur leaned forward and braced his hands against Francis's side, shoving harshly. Francis reached out and grabbed Arthur by the tops of his arms and pulled him down onto the bed, pressing their bodies so close that the tips of their noses were touching. "What's the magic word?"

"You're insufferable and I hate you, now let me go!" Arthur yelled in the other man's face. He struggled some more before Francis released his hold, the Frenchman sitting up and making his way to the other side of the room. As Arthur watched Francis put all his school work into his backpack, he threw his shirt over his head and slipped his shoes on his feet.

"You wound me, Arthur," Francis pouted as he brought the bag over to Arthur's bed and set it down where he had been laying. He could still see the indentation of his body in the mattress, and his muscles ached to crawl back onto the bed and wrap himself in Arthur's comically large comforter.

The growling of both his and Arthur's stomachs brought him back to where he was, and he looked up at Arthur. "Can we go eat now? I don't know what time it is, but I hope your mother really did save us at least something."

Arthur nodded, his stomach growling again, but louder than the first time. He grabbed his backpack and led Francis down the stairs, taking two or three at a time so he didn't miss too much more of his first period class, which happened to be his favorite. He really didn't care about the food anymore, he was just anxious to get to class.

But when he passed by the window in the living room that over-looked the driveway, he saw that there was not a single vehicle to be found on their property.

Arthur's stomach dropped, his throat going dry. "Mother, where is Anderson? He doesn't have to be work for another hour, where is the car?" Arthur turned around to find his mother handing Francis a small plate with several bacon strips on it, her eyes wide and expression disgusted as she watched the young man shove three entire pieces in his mouth.

Alice turned her attention away from Francis and set her eyes on her son. "He left maybe thirty minutes ago, dear. He had an important meeting today and couldn't wait for you. He said you would need to walk to school if you wanted to go so bad." Her voice was quiet.

Arthur's eyebrow twitched. " _Walk_ to school? I can't _walk_ to school - it's too far away! By the time I'll get there, I might as well not even be there!" He realized, after meeting his mother's eyes, that his tone was much more harsh and his voice much louder than he had intended. His mother's eyes were sad, glistening with emotion, and he felt horrible.

Arthur took a step towards his mother, the apology already on his tongue and ready to leave his lips when Francis spoke. "I will take you to school, Arthur, don't worry. I should probably head up the college and make an appearance, anyway."

Nodding her head, Alice placed a hand on Francis's shoulder, thanking him quietly before taking the empty plate from his hands and placing it in the dishwasher. "You two should probably get going now, then. You're already half an hour late to school."

Arthur groaned, throwing his hands up in the air and stomping out the front door, not bothering to check if Francis was following him.

* * *

The ride itself had taken around ten minutes, but Arthur had completely missed his first two classes by the time Francis pulled into the student parking lot. After he had went inside his own home to change his clothes, find his keys, and figure out which radio station he wanted to listen to, Arthur was more than glad to see the school building pull up before him.

He was even more glad to see Alfred standing outside the his pick up truck, staring intently down at his phone.

Francis turned his attention towards the direction that Arthur was staring at, and choked on absolutely nothing when he saw _who_ Arthur was staring at.

"Mon ami?" Francis asked Arthur. "Is this the insanely hot man you told me about?" Francis cut his eyes towards Arthur, taking notice of how the other man was all but drooling as he gathered his belongings.

"Thanks for the ride, Francis. Have fun in college." The passenger door opened, Arthur climbed out awkwardly, and slammed the door shut a little too hard.

Twisting his mouth to the side in apprehension, Francis hummed to himself as he backed up and away from the strange blonde's parked pick up truck. He pulled instead into another empty parking spot as he watched Arthur toss his bag into the bed of the truck and climb into the cab.

When the truck sped past his parking spot, Francis pulled out and followed.


	4. Playing Hookie

**A/N: Welcome to the 4th installment in my story. A little about this chapter: The very beginning actually is another point of view from the ending of the last chapter, which helped add some length to the chapter. Another thing is that I ended up simplifying a lot of the events that happen in this chapter. I felt that if I wrote them out how I originally planned, it might be too intense, if that makes sense? I might bring back a few of the things in later chapters, but as of right now, I'm trying to build up to it all.**

 **I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to let me know what you think in a review!**

Arthur went straight towards Alfred, who had been watching him from the moment he had gotten out of Francis's vehicle. Alfred's face was closed, his eyes not as wide and bright as they were the night before.

"I was starting to think you weren't coming," Alfred said, leaning farther back against his truck and looking up at the sky.

"Coming to school? Of course I was. I always come to school." Arthur watched Alfred as he stared into the sky, the sunlight glinting off his glasses.

Alfred looked back down and met Arthur's eyes. "I called and texted you earlier. You never answered. I was trying to invite you to hang out with the guys and me today. I've been waiting for you since I didn't see your dad's car pull up to the school earlier."

Arthur's eyebrow twitched at the mention of his mother's husband. "He isn't my dad," he ground out between his teeth, digging into his pocket for his phone. When he couldn't find his phone, Arthur pulled his backpack off his shoudler and dug around between his school books. When his eyes caught a glimpse of an unfinished Calculus worksheet, he remembered with a jolt where his phone was - dead, on his bedroom floor, at home.

Arthur's palm connected with his forehead. "My phone is dead and at home. I fell asleep last night before I could charge it," he explained, looking at Alfred apologetically. At Alfred's nod, he continued. "What kind of party is it? How come you've been waiting for me out here? We have several classes together."

"Because we aren't going to school today. We're skipping," Alfred stated, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He leaned forward and was so close to Arthur that the smaller man could smell Alfred's after shave and shampoo. The scent was intoxicating.

"I enjoyed our time together last night so much I wanted to spend some more time with you. Is that okay?"

Arthur swallowed a large lump in his throat, trying to force out the sentences that were piled up in his mind. _Yes, of course I want to hang out with you._

 _I had a lot of fun, too._

 _I would go anywhere with you._

 _I dreamt about you last night._

 _I love you._

Arthur shook his head to clear away the thoughts, but he still couldn't figure out how to make his tongue work. His hands began to shake and he began to sway on his feet. Alfred was still standing unnecessarily (he didn't mind it, really) close, and Arthur was afraid that if Alfred continued to bend close to him like that he would lose his balance or pass out.

Taking Arthur's silence as hesitation, Alfred reached forward and ran the tips of his fingers along Arthur's arm, tugging at the strap of his backpack. "It would totally suck if you bailed out on me. I was looking forward to spending the day with you," Alfred hummed,finally straightening up and taking a step back.

Arthur tried to force his heart rate to slow down. His head was light, and Alfred's scent still floated around him, filling his nostrils and seeping into every cell of his body. Arthur watched as Alfred climbed into the cab of his truck, leaning over and unlocking the passenger side door without waiting for a response from Arthur.

Arthur heard the click of the ancient truck's lock, and the sound snapped him out of his trance. Turning around quickly, trying not to stumble over his own feet, he tossed his back pack unceremoniously into the bed of Alfred's truck and hopped into the seat that had been offered to him.

* * *

By the time Alfred pulled his truck over, the sun was high in the sky, beating down with a heat so intense Arthur was sweating bullets from inside the truck.

"Sorry about the heat, dude," Alfred apologized. "My truck is so old, the AC unit is shot."

Arthur shook his head, denying that he was bothered by the heat at all, despite the sweat that was clinging to his hairline and his eyelashes. He exited the truck after Alfred, not paying attention much attention to how hard he was shutting the door. His attention was drawn to the scenery instead.

Alfred had driven them to a river. On either side of the water, there were fields of flowers. There was a bridge maybe half a mile down the river, arching up slightly above the water. The bridge appeared to be made of painted stone, but Arthur couldn't be too sure from the distance. The water, which was less than three feet from him, was raging as it flowed by. Arthur could feel the water's spray as it crashed into boulders and against the land. He had never seen this place before, and asked Alfred where they were,

"We're about... two, maybe three hours outside of town," Alfred explained. "The guys and I come here all the time when we ditch school. There isn't much traffic out this way, and no one bothers us even if someone does happen to pass by, so we can do whatever we want."

Arthur nodded, puffing out his bottom lip in thought. It really wasn't that difficult to get out to the river from what he had seen. It wasn't that difficult to find the river, either. It was just off the main road a few hundred feet, and you were there. There also wasn't any parking, so the line of vehicles along the riverside was a dead giveaway that there was a gathering of some sort happening.

Turning to watch as Alfred pulled a boombox out of his truck bed, Arthur wondered for a moment if the boy ever thought about things before he said or did them. The location he had taken him to was exposed to everything - animals, weather, cars and passersby should anyone decide that they want to take a pleasure tour through the fields. Maybe no one would bother Alfred and his friends if they were in a more secluded area, but being out in the open with a bunch of knucle-headed jocks made Arthur a little more uncomfortable than he would have liked to admit.

"Hey, dude," Alfred called from the back of the truck. "Can you give me a hand with these CDs?" Arthur's eyes focused on Alfred's position. The tall blonde was standing in the bed of the truck, balancing the boombox on the edge of the bed, with a corner of the device resting on his knee. The position looked uncomfortable and precarious, so Arthur hurried over to grab whatever it was that Alfred wanted him to carry.

Arthur was handed a large binder. It was one of the ones that zipped shut, and it was heavier than he had expected it to be. The binder was covered with a deep black fabric, the word "MUSIC" written across the cover in red, white, and blue puff paint.

After Alfred handed the binder to Arthur, he straightened up and took the boombox in his arms. "And now, we walk." Alfred jumped off the bed of the truck with ease, the stereo in his arms not hindering his movement whatsoever. Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise as he followed Alfred.

They were walking in the direction of the bridge, and the closer they were, the easier it became for Arthur to see the structure better. He saw, once they were maybe a few hundred feet from the bridge, that the "painted stone" he had seen earlier was actually moss-covered bricks. The bridge was larger than it had appeared back by the truck, and the arch was higher than Arthur found practical.

Underneath of the bridge, on either side of the river, was a bed of large rocks. Some where smooth, some were jagged, and most were wet from the spray of the river as it splashed against them. Arthur could feel the moisture in the air as he walked, his clothes clinging to his body as the water ricochetted off the rocks. His hair was pasted to his forehead, the golden locks drenched from the water in the air.

Arthur saw, from behind Alfred, that there were blankets and towels laid out on the largest of the rocks on either side of the river. Holding the blankets and towels down were baskets filled with food and alcohol. Footballs helmets rolled around on the rocks when the wind blew too hard, and there stacks of CDs and magazines of all sorts piled into the corners of the fabrics to better hold them still.

The majority of the jocks from school were lounging all over the blankets. Some were laying on their backs, feet kicked up and crossed at the knees. Others were leaning against the bridge or the larger rocks that were behind and above them, their legs curled underneath them or folded into their chests.

As the two boys passed underneath the bridge, Arthur reached up subconsciously and ran his fingers through the moss that covered the stones of the bridge. His fingers sunk deeper into the lush greenery than he expected, and when he pulled them away, there were water droplets clinging to his skin.

Alfred hollered, setting the boombox down on the nearest blanket. The other jocks hollered back, their whoops of greeting echoing underneath the bridge. Arthur set the binder of CDs down beside the boombox, finally coming out from behind Alfred.

The whoops died down. Arthur looked around at the men, who were now all looking at him, and recognized the majority of them from the locker room the day before, when he had embarrassed himself by crying out like a little girl. Gulping, Arthur looked over to Alfred, who was staring down at him strangely.

"He's the reason you're late?" Came an obnoxious call from the other side of the river. Arthur and Alfred turned their attention in the direction of the voice, and Arthur groaned inwardly. The voice was scratchy, deep, and belonged to the school's only albino male.

Gilbert Bielschmidt was sitting on a rock on the other side of the river, a brown, curly-haired girl stretched across his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. He had his neck stretched far enough away from the girl's face to see Alfred standing beside Arthur.

"You brought your girlfriend," Alfred called back, laughing as he motioned to the girl currently trying to draw Gilbert's attention back to her. "I feel like it would be unfair to deny me the comany of my new friend." Alfred threw his arm over Arthur's shoulders, pulling the Brit closer and squeezing the top of his arm gently.

Arthur's arm burned where Alfred's skin was touching his, but his cheeks burned even hotter. Alfred's scent filled Arthur's nose once more, invading his senses and taking over his thoughts for the second time that day. Arthur closed his eyes, focusing on standing still and keeping his wits about him. He focused so much on keeping his breathing even and staying calm that he didn't notice himself leaning over into Alfred's warmth, the taller boy's scent enveloping him completely and battling with his sense of reason and direction.

At Gilbert's short snicker, Arthur opened his eyes again and looked in the direction of the albino. Gilbert's face was twisted in a sneer as he watched Alfred and Arthur, his teeth bared and his arms wrapped around his girlfriend, pulling her farther up on his lap. "Tch, yeah. Friend," he jeered, turning his head and capturing his girlfriend's lips with his.

Alfred turned Arthur away from Gilbert, so that their backs were facing the river, which was still raging and splashing against the rocks they were standing on. "I wouldn't pay any attention to him, man," Alfred whispered. "He's always bitter."

Arthur nodded slowly, breathing in deeply to inhale more of Alfred's scent before the other boy let him go. Alfred motioned for Arthur to go and sit against one of the rocks, and then he turned towards the stereo and the binder of CDs they had brought out with them. Arthur pulled his knees to his chest and watched as Alfred shuffled through the binder, pulling out a CD and sliding it into the stereo. Within a few seconds, country music was blasting through the speakers of the stero.

Alfred came back and sat beside Arthur, wrapping his arm around him once again. "I don't know what kind of music you're into, but I hope this doesn't bother you too much. All I really have is music the guys and I listen to during practice," Alfred apologized.

 _It doesn't bother me as long as you like it._

"It's fine," Arthur said instead. "I don't really have a preference."

"Cool, dude," Alfred exclaimed, pulling his legs up to his chest and shifting his position slightly so that his knees were leaning against Arthur's.

One of the guys made a comment about Alfred and Arthur suddenly becoming friends, and jokes were made about Arthur possibly joining the team if Alfred ever asked him to. Arthur tried to force himself to calm down and laugh along with the jokes, but his mind kept going back to the day before, when the whole football team had been laughing at him and possibly making jokes about him. He couldn't force himself to calm down when he was surrounded by so many people who had made his time in America miserable. Even with Alfred sitting beside him, his arm wrapped tightly around Arthur's shoulders and swueezing occassionally, Arthur couldn't force himself to focus on anything other than the embarrassment that he was feeling for no reason.

When he heard someone clearing their throat sharply, Arthur was almost sighing with relief when he turned his attention to see Francis standing at the edge of the rock nest. The Frenchman's hands were fisted on his hips, his eyes narrowed and searching the crowd for Arthur. When he finally laid eyes on the young Brit, Francis made his way carefully to where Alfred and Arthur were sitting.

Alfred's arm tightened around Arthur's shoulders. "Dude, can we help you? This party is invitation only." Alfred's voice was tight, his fingers coming to a standstill on Arthur's arm.

"I am here for my friend, and that is all," Francis responded. "I do not wish to be a part of your 'party' nor does my friend, by the looks of it. Now, Arthur, let's go." Francis reached his hand out and motioned for Arthur to follow him.

Arthur was unsure what to do, although he was glad to see Francis there.

Alfred laughed shortly, his arm tightening around Arthur's shoulders. "And who might you be to come and retrieve him like this?"

Francis looked towards Arthur, meeting his gaze. There was an unspoken apology in the Frenchman's eyes, and Arthur knew immediately what he was about to do. "I am his boyfriend," Francis lied. "So I am here to retrieve him."

The jocks that were paying attention the interaction between Francis and Alfred all gasped, and Alfred dropped his arm from around Arthur's shoulder. He looked at the smaller man with wide eyes. "Dude..." Alfred whispered.

With red cheeks, Arthur stood up. "I'm sorry, Alfred, but I must go now. I hope I can talk to you later."

As Arthur and Francis walked away, Arthur's shoulders slumped as he heard the jocks beginning to laugh and make an unkown number of obscene jokes. Francis had just outed him, and he wasn't sure why Alfred had looked at him that way, but Arthur's heart broke as the last of Alfred's scent disappeared from his nose.


	5. Out to Dinner

**A/N: This chapter is actually where everything gets good. Like, after this chapter, everything gets really intense and I will warn you in advance. The next chapter will not be pretty. This is going to be the last easy-going chapter of the story for a little while, and I apologize. But, it can't be a drama story without a little bit of heartbreak, am I right?**

 **Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. That is for the next chapter. For now, just enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think in a review.**

 **Warning: Boring ending is boring and abrupt. Sorry.**

Arthur couldn't get the laughter of the others out of his mind. Even when Francis had talked the whole car ride home, had followed him up to his room and talked for another two hours before finally leaving, Arthur couldn't hear anything but the laughter that seemed to follow him around everywhere he went.

He was sitting, cross-legged, on his bed with his back to the wall. He had briefly contemplated emailing his teachers to get the work he had missed that day, but once he had opened his laptop, he couldn't bring himself to talk to anyone, even if it was over a computer. All he wanted to do was sit and think about how he could have avoided the humiliation that he had been submerged in the last two days.

Basically, it all came down to things he couldn't control. He could try to not find Alfred attractive anymore, but the boy had been the center of his attention since he had moved to America. He couldn't try to not be gay anymore, because that would involve not liking Alfred _like that_ anymore, and since Arthur couldn't get the thought of Alfred's skin against his out of his mind, he figured hiding it wasn't even an option anymore. He doubted he had been very good at hiding it in the first place.

Sighing, Arthur brought his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees and placing his chin against his knees. He thought about Alfred's warmth and how good he smelled. He thought about how he had leaned into Alfred unconsciously when he had first put his arm around him. He thought about how he wouldn't mind staying like that forever.

But then he remembered the look in Alfred's eyes when Francis had said he was Arthur's boyfriend. A lie just to get him out of the sitation he had been in, but Alfred and his friends didn't know that. Even hours later, even after thinking about it nonstop for the whole ride home, Arthur couldn't make out exactly what that look meant. Hatred because he was gay? Disgust because he was supposedly dating another man? Regret for not being told the truth from the beginning? Arthur wasn't sure, and the more he thought about it the worse his headache became.

His phone pinged. Arthur sighed and turned his head towards the device, which was plugged in and charging on the corner of his bed. He contemplated ignoring the message, assuming it was Francis trying to get him to tell him what happened after he had left the school with Alfred.

When the phone pinged a second time, however, and the screen lit up, Arthur saw that is was Alfred who had sent him the messages, and his curiosity won over his embarrassment.

 **Hey, man.**

 **Is your bf there with you? I want to talk to you but not if it'll get you in trouble again.**

Arthur, despite himself, smiled. Without hesitation, he responded, telling Alfred that he was alone and that he wouldn't get in trouble even if he wasn't. As he waited for Alfred's response, Arthur managed to breathe a little easier. He even allowed himself to glance out his window, which made it possible for him to see across both his yard and Francis's yard and into the Frenchman's bedroom window. He could see Francis sitting at his computer desk, back to the window.

 _Ping_. **He took you away before you could get your bag out of my truck. I'm assuming a nerd like you would want something like this back? :P**

Arthur looked around his room in confusion, seeing for the first time that he really didn't have his backpack with him. To be fair, he didn't even remember throwing it in Alfred's truck, but that might have been because he was too concerned about watching Alfred to pay attention to what he was doing.

Arthur pursed his lips. **I would very much like it back. If you come now, you might even be able to come to dinner with us.** He contemplated signing the text with a smile, but thought better of it when he realized that might come off as a little too flirty. He didn't want to scare Alfred away with his horrendous flirting after the other man had decided to ignore the embarrassment from earlier and continue to talk to him.

 **You know what they say - the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I'll be right over.**

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alfred was knocking on the door, Arthur's bag slung over his shoulder and a goofy grin on his face. When Arthur opened the door and looked up into Alfred's face, his heart skipped a beat or two at the sight of that lopsided grin, and the smaller Brit thought he might faint.

"Hey, dude," Alfred greeted, shrugging his shoulder to keep the bag from falling down. He smiled again, his teeth glinting in the dim porch light.

"Uh... Yeah, hey," Arthur mumbled, stepping aside and motioning for Alfred to come inside. When Alfred was fully inside the house, looking around in amazement at all the pictures and knick knacks Arthur's mother collected, Arthur closed the door and leaned against it. He watched as Alfred walked around the living room, Arthur's backpack still slung over his shoulder as he examined the family photos that decorated the walls and tables.

Arthur had always thought his mother's obsession with photos was strange and obnoxious, but as he watched Alfred, who was so obviously entranced by the numerous family events that had been captured, he began to think that maybe it wasn't so bad, after all. He watched as Alfred circled the room, picking up the frames that were sitting on the end tables and examining them with a curious look on his face.

Alfred turned to Arthur, a picture frame held up by his face. "Is this your dad?" Alfred was pointing to a tall man with neatly-combed dark brown hair and a wide jaw. He was standing beside Arthur's mother, one of his arms around her waist and his other hand resting on a young Arthur's shoulder, who stood in front of the two adults looking miserable.

Arthur cringed at the photo, remembering how horrible that day had been for him. That had been the day his mother had told him she was going to remarry. It had also been the first time he had ever met Anderson, and the meeting didn't go over very well.

"That's Anderson," Arthur ground out, his eyes narrowing as he walked over and took the frame from Alfred's hands. He set the frame back down on the end table and straightened up, trying to contain his facial expression as he saw his mother and Anderson turn into the living room.

"Okay... so, I guess not?" Alfred questioned, tilting his head to the side and watching as Arthur straightened up and cleared his throat. Alfred did the same, looking over his shoulder to see Arthur's parents standing in the doorway to the living room.

Anderson grunted, turning his attention to Alfred. "I thought the neighbor's kid was coming?" Anderson's eyes were narrowed as he studied Alfred, looking him up and down in distaste.

Alice placed a hand on Anderson's elbow. "His name is Francis, dear," she corrected. She patted his arm gently before turning her attention towards Alfred. "My name is Alice, and this is Anderson. Are you the friend Arthur went out with last night?" The question sounded innocent enough, but Alfred detected some kind of accusatory tone beneath her words.

"Uhm, uh, yes, ma'am," Alfred stuttered. He straightened up even more, becoming aware of how well-dressed Arthur's parents were compared to him. He was still wearing his football jersey from earlier that morning, which no doubt probably smelled like several different types of alcohol and cigarette smoke. "My name is Alfred." He unconsciously began to fidget with the hem of his shirt, his eyes roaming from Arthur's parents to Arthur, who came up to stand beside him.

Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's elbow. pulling the jock's fingers away from the hem of his clothing. "If it's alright with you, mother, Alfred and I will drive to the restaurant in Alfred's truck." Arthur began tugging Alfred towards the door.

Anderson grunted and shook his head. "I don't care who drives what, as long as you're there on time."

"Right, got it," Arthur confirmed, ushering Alfred out of the house and into the truck.

* * *

The dinner wasn't too bad in the beginning. Through most of the meal, Anderson talked about his meeting at work and how he had managed to up-sell some type of stock that Arthur didn't listen to because he didn't care. Alfred was sitting in between Arthur and his mother, and the jock was obviously trying to pay attention to what Anderson was saying, but judging from the look on his face, the meaning behind the words escaped him.

Finally, Anderson stopped talking about how great he was in the office and how he did all kinds of wonderful things for the economy. Alice took the break in office conversation to turn the attention towards Alfred and Arthur.

"So, Alfred dear," she began. "How do you know Arthur?"

Arthur and Alfred exchanged a look. "We have a few classes together in school. Last year it was just English. This year it's gym, calculus, and English again."

Anderson grunted from across the table. "Is that why you had Arthur's backpack with you? Because he left it behind in class?"

Arthur's eyebrows flew up into his hairline. He hadn't realized Anderson had seen Alfred with his bag, or even cared enough to notice. And judging from the look in the man's eyes, no matter how any of them answered, the outcome of the conversation wasn't going to be good.

Alfred tripped over his tongue for a second before he finally found the words to say. "We actually studied for a little bit after school. I'm not very good with school, you see, and Arthur was helping me with the homework until his boyf - "

Arthur kicked Alfred from underneath the table, the taller blonde biting his tongue in the middle of his sentence. Alfred shot Arthur an offended glance, crossing his ankles and moving his legs away from Arthur's pointed shoes.

Alfred was about to continue what he was saying when he caught Arthur's eyes. They were wide and filled with a warning, pleading.

"His boy neighbor came and got him. The neighbor's boy. He actually has a really nice car. I wonder if he would ever let me drive it. I love cars, and I've actually never driven a sports car before and - "

Arthur kicked Alfred under the table again. Alfred clamped his mouth shut so hard he bit his tongue again and his teeth clanked shut audibly.

"You're babbling," Arthur hissed, leaning closer to Alfred so Anderson and his mother wouldn't hear him as well. "You're horrendous under pressure."

"Sorry," Alfred whispered back, bringing his hand up to massage his mouth, which was beginning to hurt.

Anderson sighed and brought the napkin up to his lips, wiping away the grease from his food. Arthur could see the tension in his limbs as he moved, could see the slight twitching of his eyebrow and the creases forming in the center of his forehead.

Arthur grabbed Alfred's wrist under the table, switching his position and squeezing Alfred's wrist slightly; _get ready to move._ Alfred took the hint and shifted his position too, his body now sitting closer to the edge of the seat, his back turned slightly more towards Alice. Alfred's and Arthur's knees bumped as they finished shifting their positions, their eyes locked on Anderson as he placed his napkin back down on the table.

"We know you weren't in school today, Arthur," Anderson began. His eyes lifted to the two boys sitting across from him. They were narrowed and threatening. "We had been hoping you would tell us yourself, but it seems instead you've brought in a friend to lie for you." Alice opened her mouth to intervene, but Aderson held up his hand, and the woman fell silent. "I think it's best if the two of your went home, to your _own_ homes, Mr. Alfred, and we will think of what to do with you, Arthur, when your mother and I get home."

"Yes, sir," Arthur mumbled incoherently, jumping to his feet. Alfred's wrist was still clenched tightly in his hand, and he pulled the other boy up with him, leading him out of the restaurant and into the darkened parking lot.

The ride to Arthur's house was spent in silence, Alfred not wanting to pry too much into Arthur's family life, and Arthur not wanting to talk about it either way.


	6. Trouble Sweet Trouble

**A/N: I'm so so sorry for this chapter. I hated myself while I was writing it, and it was definitely a struggle. However, it is my longest chapter, so hopefully that makes up for the trauma that you will go through while reading this. I will have a few warnings before the chapter, because I know I will feel bad if I don't, and it's kind of mandatory. But, whatever.**

 **I hope this chapter does answer questions that some of you had, and I hope you all like it, despite everything that will happen.**

 **Warning: Abuse (verbal and physical), foul language.**

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here any longer, Alfred," Arthur warned. The Brit was perched on the edge of the bed, his unfinished homework spread out around him. A pencil was clenched tightly between his teeth as he struggled to remember the formulas needed to solve the remaining problems.

Alfred looked up from the papers he was snooping through. His glasses had slipped down his nose. "If I leave, then there's no telling what will happen to you." Worry tinged Alfred's words, his fingers fidgetting with the papers he had been searching through.

"It'll be worse if you're still here when they get back, believe me." Arthur sighed, biting down on the pencil harder as he brought his hands up to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes.

"Well, would your boyfriend really let you know when they pull in, even if I'm here? Because, if so, then we shouldn't have anything to worry about, right?" Alfred made his way across the room, his fingers gliding along the dark, solid wood of the desk as he went. He cleared off a spot on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight.

Arthur switched his position and looked up at Alfred, the pencil still hanging from his mouth. He contemplated on whether he should continue with Francis's lie from earlier or not, even though the thought of calling Francis his boyfriend sent creeped-out shivers down his spine. Surely, Francis had his reasons for following Arthur and becoming this over-protective, lying, douchebag cockblock of a friend, but until he told Arthur what those reasons were, the Brit didn't see the point in his actions.

And then Arthur met Alfred's eyes, and the doubt left his body. There was no way he could lie to Alfred about his non-existent relationship with Francis. Whether Alfred was into men or not, he was the only friend at school that Arthur had, even if the reason they were friends was a little too embarassing to think about. He didn't want to lose what he had with Alfred for Francis's jealous feelings.

Arthur's stomach filled with butterflies the longer he stared into Alfred's eyes. He knew he should talk to him, deny the lie that Francis was his boyfriend, but he couldn't make his tongue work just yet. He wanted to stare, just a little longer, into the deep blue pools that were Alfred's eyes.

"Does your boyfriend know you look at other men and drool?" Alfred's teasing tone brought Arthur back to reality, and the butterflies in his stomach turned to stones as what Alfred said processed. _Drool? Was I drooling?_ Without making it too obvious, Arthur reached up and touched his mouth, bringing the pencil from between his teeth in the process. Sure enough, his lips were a little more moist than they were while he was trying to do his homework, but he was in no way "drooling."

Alfred chuckled. "You're so totally guilty. I'm gonna go tell on you~."

Arthur's face heated up, his cheeks turning as red as tomatoes, until he saw Alfred's wink. He couldn't bring himself to relax and bring the blush from his cheeks, though. "Francis isn't my boyfriend, despite how much he wishes he was," Arthur mumbled, leaning over and looking out the window at where he knew Francis was perched outside in the large oak tree, hiding to look out for his parents' car.

"Francis is just a really good friend, and he respects my privacy and wishes (for the most part). He'll let me know when Anderson and mother pull into the driveway because he understands." Arthur took the calculus book out of his lap and set it on the floor, turning his body so that he was directly facing Alfred.

Alfred's face was twisted up in thought. His glasses gleamed in the dim bedroom lighting, his blue eyes hidden by the glare momentarily. "So..." Alfred began. "Since he isn't your boyfriend... he won't mind if I kiss you?"

"Well, I mean he will, but he has not right to - wait, what?" Arthur blinked rapidly, trying to focus his vision on Alfred's face. He shook his head several times, afraid he might have heard wrong.

Alfred's hands flew up, waving in front of his body as he tried to explain. "Well, you know, you've had a difficult time tonight, and I can tell you're really stressed about something that's beyond my comprehension (Arthur gave the boy a few brownie points for using such a "difficult" word), and studies show that kissing and physical contact can help relieve stress and can brighten someone's mood." Alfred's hands stilled as he finished talking, his mouth twisted up into a nervous grin and his eyes wide behind his glasses.

Arthur raised his eyebrow in confusion as he stared at Alfred. "What studies?"

"Just studies, man," Alfred huffed. "But it works. Kissing releases some, like, chemical in your brain that makes you feel good. I like to feel good, especially when I'm stressed, and you've been pretty stressed the last few days."

 _WHY ARE YOU ARGUING, YOU TWAT!? Just shut up and kiss the damn boy. Lord knows you've been dreaming about those lips for months..._

Arthur gulped and bit his lip, looking up at Alfred through his eyelashes, watching the other boy as he scooted a little closer on the bed. He watched as Alfred lifted his arm, shifting his position some more before beginning to lean down.

 _Clink._

Arthur's heart began to race as he watched Alfred's hand move closer to his face. It felt like the whole thing was taking minutes, even though he knew that was impossible, and it's really only been about 3 seconds.

Alfred's hand cupped Arthur's jaw gently, the feel of skin on skin sending a shockwave down Arthur's spine. He lifted his head up, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips connected with Alfred's.

There was electricity. Not literally, because then both of the boys would probably have jumped apart and tried to accuse the other of doing it on purpose, but it was the kind of electricity that woke Arthur's body up. His blood seemed to travel through his veins faster than it was before, his heart seemed to beat with more life. He could feel the color rising to his cheeks, could taste the grease from the burger Alfred had eaten at dinner on his lips.

 _Clink._

His lips. Arthur was kissing Alfred's lips. His brain became foggy, and he lost control of his movements. He didn't realize when his arms reached around and gripped at Alfred's jersey. He didn't notice when he tugged on the boy's clothing to pull him closer. He didn't notice when he slipped a hand underneath Alfred's shirt, his fingers sifting through the thick hair that protruded from the waistband of his pants.

What he did notice was when Alfred's tongue flicked against his lips. He noticed the moist muscle travelling inside his mouth, wrestling with his own tongue as Alfred's hands found their way underneath Arthur's shirt. Alfred's fingers dug into the smaller man's hips, bringing the body forward in an attempt to deepen the kiss.

 _Clink._

 _Clink._

 _Clinkclink._

Alfred pulled away, breathing heavy, his hands still on Arthur's hips. Their foreheads were pressed together as they both tried to catch their breath. "Feel better now?" Alfred asked in between pants.

All Arthur could do was hum in satisfaction, his cheeks tinted red as he breathed in Alfred's scent.

Alfred chuckled, nipping lightly at Arthur's bottom lip. "I told you it would help - "

Hands gripped Alfred's shoulders and pulled him backwards, flinging him almost off the bed. Arthur and Alfred both looked in the direction of the body, their hearts and stomachs dropping in terror when they saw a very pissed-off Francis standing just inside the bedroom, the window behind him opened and the wind billowing around them. Arthur shivered as the bitter wind brushed against his cheek.

Francis leaned forward, gripping Alfred again by his shoulders and hauling the man to his feet. "You have to leave. Arthur, your damned parents are home, you idiot," he hissed. Arthur's face drained of all color, his fever from Alfred's kiss plummetting as it was replaced by an ice cold fear.

While Francis struggled to get Alfred to the window, the wind outside began to pick up. It blasted through the window, carrying with it the harsh slam of a car door.

Francis was in more of a rush than he was before, managing to drag the stunned jock over to the window. When Alfred finally felt the cold wind on his face, he hopped into action and placed his hands and one knee on the window sill. Before climbing out completely, though, he looked over his shoulder at Arthur.

"What is going to happen?" Alfred tried to meet Arthur's gaze, but the smaller boy's eyes were turned away, glazed over and staring at something on his desk that no one else could see. "Arthur?"

Francis growled and shoved Alfred the rest of the way out the window. "I said you have to _move,_ you oaf."

Footsteps on the stairs. They were loud, quick, and angry.

As Alfred caught himself on the rugged shingles of the first floor roof, Francis climbed the rest of the way out of the window. From where they were, Alfred could still see Arthur perched on the bed, his face drained of all life and color.

Francis ushered him into the oak tree, snapping at him under his breath to either leave or stay hidden, because it wasn't going to be pretty.

As Arthur's bedroom door flew open, all the stress that had left him while he had been kissing Alfred slammed back into his body at once. His heart constricted, and his breathing stopped.

Anderson was standing in the doorway, his fists clenched and his teeth grinding behind his lips. Arthur could almost hear his enamel wearing away by the rough treatment.

"Where is he?" Anderson growled. He made his way into the room, stopping right at the side of Arthur's bed.

Arthur shrugged.

"His truck is still here, so that means he is still here. So where the _fuck_ is he?"

Arthur tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to swell up and dry within his mouth, locked into place behind his teeth. He watched as Anderson's fisted hands began to shake.

"Fine, don't tell me where he went, but I know he's still here, and I know he can probably hear me, so I hope you and him both take this into consideration. I don't want no faggot fairy little boys in my house, do you understand me?" Anderson leaned closer to Arthur, the man's rancid breath coasting along his cheeks and invading his nose.

Arthur fought back a gag as Anderson breathed, hot and heavy, in his face as he spoke.

"I told your mother when I moved in that you needed to change. I've told you time and time again that this isn't acceptable, and that it won't be tolerated. And now I hear you have a 'boyfriend'? WIth the neighbor's son, of all people? If you hang out with trash, you become trash. What, you think it's okay to be whoring yourself around town just because it's with other boys? That is the most disgusting, despicable thing you could ever do to yourself. You're definitely grounded after this, boy. For life.

"If I catch another one of your ass-raising, pillow-biting faggot friends in this house again, and especially after I tell them to leave, you're ass is done. You'll be shipped out and I won't ever have to worry about your disrespectful, loose, limp-wristed self again, do you hear me? Fix yourself, Arthur, or I'll pay someone a lot of money to fix you for me."

Anderson straightened up. His hands had stopped shaking, although they were still clenched by his side. Arthur still sat on the edge of his bed, his hands wound tightly into his comforter to try and hide his shaking. He could feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes, but he fought hard to hold them in. The last thing he wanted to do was show Anderson how bad his words were hurting him.

As Anderson made his way to the door, Arthur gulped and stood up, his mind and heart conflicted on what to do and say. He could hear his conscious yelling at him to save himself and _sit the fuck down, for Christ's sake, Arthur_ , but his heart was louder. He couldn't let Anderson insult his friends like that. Insult _him_ like that. He was tired of the way Anderson treated him, like he didn't make a promise to protect and love him as his own like he did for Alice.

And he sure as hell wasn't loose.

"There isn't anything wrong with us, Anderson," he growled.

Anderson stopped where he was, halfway to the door. He turned slowly, eyebrows twitching as he glared at Arthur. "You don't want to go on, bot."

"I do," Arthur whispered. His voice trembled as he spoke, so he kept his voice low and talked slower than usual to try and hide it, but Anderson (Arthur swore he was part bloodhound) could still sense the fear in Arthur's words. "My name, by the way, is Arthur, but you knew that already. I turn eighteen in two weeks. Once I turn eighteen, you have no control over me. I will bring whoever I want into this house, and if I want to _fuck them_ I will, and there will be nothing you can do about it. You can't fix me, Anderson, because there isn't anything wrong with me." The words tasted bitter on Arthur's tongue, like poison, and he wasn't sure which part of his little "speech" had made him feel as if he were empty.

Anderson's fists shook uncontrollably as he closed the distance once more between him and Arthur. A sharp snap echoed throughout the room, Arthur's cheek burning from the impact of Anderson's hand. He tasted blood in his mouth, and a sharp pain clouded his senses from where he had bitten his tongue.

"I should have known you wouldn't change. Your damned father couldn't even save his own life, let alone create anything other then a bullshit pansy boy. Clean up your room and finish your homework before I get too disgusted and decide I want to hit you again."

Arthur's heart clenched at the mention of his father, his mind going blank. His hands, which he hadn't noticed were fisted tightly by his side, unclenched and stopped shaking. His body seemed to lose control of itself, the young Brit just standing there, staring at a spot on the floor.

As Anderson left the room, Arthur looked up and saw his mother standing right outside the bedroom door, her hands covering her mouth. Tears were in her eyes, but she made no attempt to come inside the room, or even to follow Anderson down the stairs. She just stared, breathing heavily and shaking as she watched Arthur with pain in her watering eyes.

Arthur crossed the room, looking at his mother sadly before closing the door between them one last time. When the click of the door sounded throughout the room, Arthur's tears fell.

* * *

Alfred slid down the tree, meeting Francis on the ground. He eyebrows were stitched together in a mixutre of worry, confusion, and anger.

"Why did you make me leave? Why did you let him say those things to Arthur? Dude, he _hit him_ , and then threatened to do it again for no fucking reason!" Alfred's heart was beating wildly in his chest, his palms slippery with sweat.

Francis shook his head. "It's not our place to do anything," he explained. "It would have been worse if we were still in there, anyway. Anderson would have had three people to take his rage out on, and he wouldn't have cared that you were another person's child. He would have hit and insulted you and me both if we were still in there. He was holding back because Arthur is only one person, and you can go to prison for life if you kill someone out of hate. It's better that we weren't in there. Believe me."

 _Believe me... It was exactly what Arthur had said to him when he told him to leave. And he hadn't believed him._

Alfred followed Francis to the front of the house, the both of them making sure to avoid being spotted through the open windows. As they passed, they saw Alice and Anderson in the living room, a bottle of vodka clenched in Anderson's hands as he waved it around, shouting something they couldn't hear at his wife.

"But I don't understand," Alfred pressed on. "Why is it okay for that happen?"

Francis stopped beside Alfred's truck, yanking the ancient door open and stepping back, motioning for the man to climb in. Alfred did as he was told, his heart and mind still racing from what he had witnessed.

"Just because it happens, doesn't mean it's okay," Francis sighed. He placed his hand on the door to keep Alfred from closing it. Leaning forward, Francis placed his weight on the door and crossed his arms over his chest to protect from the biting cold of the wind. "Not everyone's friends and family are as okay with them being gay as yours are."

Alfred looked down at Francis in shock, remembering something Arthur had said about him before their kiss.

"Arthur said you understood," he whispered, leaning forward and dropping his voice so Francis could barely hear him. "Is that why you understand? Because it happens to you, too?" Alfred couldn't stop himself from worrying about the strange French man that was apparently Arthur's best friend. Even though he didn't know too much about him (or really like him that much, from the little bit of time they had spent together), he couldn't help but feel as if there was something he could do to help.

Francis stepped back from the truck. He uncrossed his arms from his chest and made to close the door. "Oh, and one more thing, _Alfred_ ," Francis hissed. His face twisted into something like disgust. "If I ever see you around Arthur again, I will hurt you. He has gone through too much in his life to have someone like you destroy him even more. I know about your wager. Call it off."

Francis slammed the door, making his way quickly across the yard and into his own property before Anderson had the chance to come out and roast him for dessert.


	7. Chapter 1 Point 5

**A/N: I just want to apologize for how long it has taken me to update this story. First, I had gone overnight for a week and hadn't had the chance to write at all, since I was literally either sleeping or working. And then I moved into an apartment with a friend from work, and come to find out that my laptop won't connect to her Internet. So, the only time I can realy update anymore is when I go over my boyfriend's house, or when I'm at my dad's house. Unless I can somehow connect my laptop to the Internet, I won't be able to update regularly anymore.**

 **I'm sorry for such short notice, and I hope you all will continue to read this story through to the end. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Alfred watched in confusion as Arthur exited the locker room. He didn't notice the laughter at first, not until Gilbert walked up to him and placed a wet hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, man, that kid cracks me up." His laugh was loud, echoing through the locker room and drowning out the laughter of the others. Gilbert had always seemed to steal the attention when he was in a group of people, no matter what was going on.

Alfred turned to Gilbert as he slipped his shirt over his head. "But what's so funny?" he asked once his shirt was all the way on. His eyes shifted to the door leading out of the locker room one more time before turning back to his locker to finish dressing.

Alfred heard Gulbert scoff behind him. "You mean you didn't hear that girlish noise that kid made?" Even without seeing his face, Alfred could picture Gulbert's expression of disbelief just by his tone of voice.

"I honestly wasn't paying attention. I've been thinking about this practice all day. I don't really have time to think about anything else," Alfred explained. He reached for his shoes and a fresh pair of socks from his locker as he spoke.

Gilbert moved closer. "So, you think Coach is going to fall for it?" The albino's face was only a few inches from Alfred's ear, his breath moist and hot as he spoke. Alfred suppressed a shiver, moving farther down the bench and leaning over to put on his shoes and socks.

"More than likely," Alfred confirmed. "He never turns the light on when he walks into the closet, so I don't see why today would be any different. I just hope Kodi is smart enough to stay hidden so Coach doesn't know who did it."

Gulbert scoffed. "Kodi is an idiot. Of course he'll get caught. But that's going to be the exciting part, not the prank itself."

Alfred shook his head, chuckling under his breath as the bell rang to dismiss class. Standing from the bench, Alfred followed the rest of the guys out of the locker room and made his way with Gilbert to their next classes.

* * *

Alfred didn't notice at first that Arthur wasn't in his seat in the next class. It was Gilbert who had point it out, chuckling wickedly as he tossed a balled up piece of paper in the direction of the empty seat. "It isn't as fun when he isn't there to get angry. Right, Al?"

Alfred looked up from his paper, his eyes going immediately to Arthur's empty seat. It was three rows over and two chairs up from where Alfred and Gilbert's seats were in the back of the classroom. He watched as Gilbert pulled another piece of paper out of his notebook, writing a short note on the one side and crumbling it up again.

Alfred reached over and grabbed the paper out of Gilbert's hand before he could throw it again. Gilbert's cry of surprise was silenced by the teacher's harsh clearing of her throat. Instead, he leaned over and whispered loudly to get Alfred's attention. "What's the deal, man?"

"He isn't even here. Pay attention to the work for once, will ya?" Alfred turned his attention back to the work laid out on his desk before him, stuffing the balled up piece of paper into his backpack. He heard Gilbert huff beside him, but the obnoxious albino stayed silent for the rest of the class.

* * *

Arthur hadn't been in calculus, and Alfred couldn't help but notice. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, but the comments Gilbert had made throughout the classes and within the hallway, and even during the warm ups before practice, made Alfred more aware of the smaller blonde's location (or lack thereof) than before.

The loud burst of laughter that came from the group of linemen gathered around Gilbert was no doubt because of his hundreth retelling of the incident in the locker room. Alfred was down on the bottom of the bleachers, relacing his shoes so they didn't fall off this time. His knee throbbed painfully from the fall he had taken the first time they had run through one of their plays.

"Gilbert, drop it, will ya?" Alfred called up the bleachers. "It's time for practice, not gossip."

Gilbert's scoff was loud. "Practice is almost over, actually. Which is disappointing, considering the fact that Coach never went into the storage shed. He always goes into the storage shed before practice. It's where he keeps his stash."

The group of guys gathered around Gilbert laughed at what Alfred assumed was a silly face the albino had made. Or it could have been the mocking tone of voice when he said the word "stash."

Alfred straightened up when he was finished with his laces, trying to wipe the dirt and grass off his clothes as best he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few of the cheerleaders heading their way.

Leading the group was Alice, the school's "flyer." Her long, blonde hair was pinned on the top of her head, her practice shorts were way too short for her long legs, and her toned stomach peeked through the bottom of her shirt.

Admittedly, Alice was beautiful. She was the most beautiful girl in the school, and for reason, she had this weird thing for Alfred that he didn't understand. He never showed any interest in her, (never showed any particular interest in any girl, for that matter) but he guessed that was why Alice was so into him. People tend to be drawn to things and people they can't have.

"Well, hello there, ladies," Gilbert cooed from beside Alfred. He must have jumped down from the top when he had noticed the girls coming. None of the other guys were around, either, which Alfred thought was weird, but he didn't question it. He assumed Gilbert told them to scram so he could score a threesome. The pervert.

Gilbert put his elbow on Alfred's shoulder as he slicked back his hair, his pearly white teeth flashing in the sun. Alice approached the two men, but turned her back to Gilbert as she leaned the side of her body against Alfred's chest. Her hand laid flat against his heart, fingers drumming against his body to the beat of his heart.

"So, Alfred," Alice began, her fingers still drumming against his chest. "I heard you have a nasty prank against the coach set up? Maybe you can tell me about it over dinner? We could go somewhere out of town, so no one we know could interrupt."

Alfred placed his hands on Alice's arms and pushed her away gently. "Sorry, Alice, but I have something to do later tonight Maybe another day." A lie, but she didn't need to know that.

Gilbert laughed loudly and threw his arms around Alfred's shoulders, forcing Alice to back up even more. "Yeah, girl, he has more important things to do. They involve a certain little exchange student and the locker room, isn't that right, buddy?" Gilbert's cackle echoed in the wind that blew gently across the football field.

Alfred's face turned red as he saw the expression that crossed Alice's face. He watched as they changed from disbelief, to disgust, to uncertainty, to rejection. Her shoulders slumped. "I guess that explains the lack of interest." Her voice was small as she spoke, her head falling forward so her hair covered her face.

Alfred shoved himself away from Gilbert. "I'm not gay, man, and there isn't anything between that kid and me." Alfred's face was still burning red as he spoke, his mouth twisting into a grimace as Alice stared at him accusingly.

Gilbert threw his arms around Alfred's shoulders again, this time holding on tighter than before. "He wants there to be something, my friend. Why don't you go entertain him? Show him a good time? Give him a reason to drool over you?"

Gilbert winked at Alice as he spoke, his grip tightening around Alfred. "What are you talking about, Gilbert?" Alfred asked as he struggled to remove the albino's arms from his body. He never took his eyes off of Alice, however, as he watched her gaze shift between the two football players.

Alfred felt Gilbert's hot breath as the albino placed his mouth right beside Alfred's ear. "I'm saying, you entertain the kid in his fantasies, and we can all have a laugh afterwards about how infatuated with you he is."

Alfred's heart thumped at the suggestion, but he couldn't figure out if it was anticipation or regret at even thinking about doing it. He knew Gilbert liked to play games, (and frankly, he did, too) but he couldn't see how messing with the school's loneliest kid would bring anyone joy.

Alice jumped forward, placing her hands on Alfred's chest. "You mean that weird British kid? Oh man, that would be so funny. He is so strange and quiet. Maybe if you 'hang out' with him, he will be more social."

"So... you both want me to sleep with him? I don't get it." Alfred looked between the two, his stomach beginning to turn at the looks on their faces.

Gilbert finally released him. "Well, you could sleep with him, but that would be a little gross, now wouldn't it? I just want you to embarrass him. Get him to think that you're genuinely interested in him, and then expose him to the whole school. It isn't that difficult. Just having a conversation with him would probably make him think you're in love with him."

Alice was nodding her head enthusiastically. "Although," she added, "iIf you do sleep with him, make sure to film it. If that video got out, it would definitely ruin him."

"And me!" Alfred snapped, his face flushing at the thought of there being video evidence of him being "romantically involved" with the strange British kid.

Alice shrugged and smirked. "Oh well, mate." Her lips jutted out into a fake pout, her hands coming up and shoulders shrugging to show that she didn't really care. "Well, if you boys don't mind, I have to go find myself a new man, since this one isn't into what I have to offer. Bye-bye!" With a wave of her fingers, Alice and the other cheerleaders disappeared.

"So!" Gilbert exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and slapping them onto Alfred's shoulders. "What do you say?"

Alfred tilted his mouth to the side as he pretended to think about it. "What's in it for me if I do it?"

Gilbert looked up to the sky as he thought. "Hmmm... well, I could do all the free weed you want, as long as you humiliate the pants off that kid. Deal?"

Alfred's eyebrows flew up into his hairline. Gilbert... giving up his weed just to make sure a kid got humiliated? It was almost too good to be true, but the proof was right before him, sitting in a small ziplock bag dangling from Gilbert's fingertips.

Alfred snatched the bag from the albino quarterback. "Are you fucking stupid? Don't pull that shit out here! I'll do it, just make sure not to be dumb like that anymore." The bag of weed was stuffed into Alfred's duffel bag, and the boys made their way to the locker room to clean themselves up.

While in the shower, Alfred thought of what he could do to convince Arthur he wanted to hang out. When he remembered the incident before, he knew what he had to do. Taking out his phone, Alfred searched through his contacts, wondering if he had even saved the kid's number from last year. When the name "Transfer Student" came up, Alfred knew exactly who it was and sent him a quick, short message.

With a deep breath, Alfred gathered his things and shot Gilbert a murderous look. The albino flashed Alfred a toothy grin and winked, disappearing out the door and onto the football field.

 **A/N: This chapter wasn't that great, I know, but I tried my best. And in case it wasn't super clear, yes, Alice is Fem!America. I am horrible. I tried, though, so that's all that counts.**


	8. Righting the Wrong

**A/N: I actually managed to upload on time, so I'm really proud of myself.**

 **This is the chapter where everyone realizes that Alfred still does have a heart. I apologize for making him seem like such a douche bag, but it was necessary. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to drop me a review when you're finished.**

Alfred watched the halls as he unloaded his bookbag into his locker. He knew the person he was searching for wouldn't show up, but it had become somewhat of a habit of his. For the last ten days, Alfred had watched the halls, hoping to see Arthur strolling along, most likely hiding the bruises that were sure to be on his face. Nothing.

Alfred sighed and cringed as he remembered, not for the first time, what had happened the night he had kissed Arthur. He remembered the echo of the slap as it had connected with Arthur's face. He remembered the words Arthur had said to try and defend him and Francis. He remembered the guilt he had felt for trying to play out the nicest man he had ever met.

He remembered the guilt because he still felt it. He still felt the occasional pull at his heart when he noticed Arthur's seats in the classes they shared were still empty. His stomach still dropped when he noticed that Arthur was no longer hopping out of some fancy car in the morning to get to class on time.

Alfred was always in a state of uselessness because he always noticed that Arthur was gone, and he noticed that it was his fault.

"Hey man, you good?" asked an obnoxious, raspy voice from behind him. A large, cold hand was placed on his shoulder. "You aren't looking too hot."

Alfred closed his locker door. "I haven't felt too hot lately." Turning around, Alfred came face to face with Gilbert, the albino's red eyes piercing through his own. "I don't think I'm going to go to practice today, man. I'm just not feeling up to it." Alfred shrugged Gilbert's arm off his shoulder as he began to walk towards the student parking lot.

Gilbert followed behind Alfred, his voice loud and grating as he talked. "You know, you've been acting weird ever since you hung out with that kid. He didn't give you anything, did he?"  
Alfred stopped walking and turned around, tilting his head to the side as he tried to understand what Gilbert was saying. "What... kid?"

And as soon as he asked the question, Alfred knew exactly what "kid" his friend was talking about. Arthur.

"You know," Gilbert announced before Alfred had the chance to correct himself. "That little queerdo who always stared at your junk after gym class. He picked a locker right next to yours so it would be easier to creep on you. The little blonde freak I dared you to fuck?"

Alfred turned away sharply. "Okay, Gilbert, that's enough. I know who you're talking about."

"About time. I can't believe you forgot."

"And his name is Arthur, by the way. He didn't stare at me after gym class, and it wasn't on purpose that our lockers were right next to each other. And you didn't dare me to fuck him, you dared me to fuck _with_ him, and frankly, I regret taking the dare now so can you not bring it up anymore?" Alfred began walking away, tossing his bookbag over his shoulder and trying to block out the rest of whatever Gilbert was saying.

But then Alfred remembered something Francis had said to him. Something about knowing about the bet. Alfred stopped walking again, so suddenly that Gilbert ran into his back. Without turning around, Alfred asked Gilbert, "Did you tell anyone about our bet? Maybe someone from the college that you're friends with?"

Gilbert rubbed his nose, twisting his face in frustration as he watched Alfred. "I have a few friends in college, yeah. What about it?"

"But did you tell any of them? Did you tell Francis?"

Gilbert cackled so loud that the remainder of the students in the halls stopped and looked his way. "Oh man," he cried. "You know Francis? Oh, that's hilarious. How did you meet him? He's a trip, ain't he? The most awesome man I've ever met, apart from myself, of course."

Alfred sighed, beginning to become frustrated with his teammate. "Did. You. Tell. Francis. About. The. Bet."

"Yeah, man," Gilbert confessed. "Francis and I have been tight for years; he usually gets really into things like that, but he wasn't too happy when I told him and we haven't talked since. So whatever, if he wants to stop talking to me because of some queer kid he lives next to, forget him."

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. Gilbert can be an idiot a lot of the times. God forbid he uses the brain that he was born with. "From now on, Gilbert," he began. "Don't go around running your mouth to people about what we do or say. It causes trouble." Alfred started to walk away again, but before he could get too far away, he looked over his shoulder and shot Gilbert a disgusted look. "And the reason he got offended and stopped talking to you, you moron, is because Francis is gay, too."

As Alfred walked away, he could hear Gilbert sputtering and denying the claim from behind him, but the albino made no move to follow Alfred after that.

* * *

Arthur still hasn't answered any of the text messages or voicemails Alfred had sent him throughout the ten days of not showing up at school, and even though he was pretty sure why, he couldn't stand to let Arthur believe that he wasn't sorry.

Alfred's truck was parked half a block down the street from Arthur's house, his engine idle as he tried to decide if he was really stupid enough to walk up to the front door. As he stared at the many unanswered messages on his phone screen, he made up his mind: he had to find out where Arthur was and what had happened to him to make him miss school for so many days.

Turning his engine off, Alfred slid from the driver seat of his truck, making sure not to slam the door too loud, just in case they heard him before he got up there. He didn't want to say he was aiming for the element of surprise, but he felt it would be safer for him to approach the house without making an annoying amount of noise. Self-preservation, that's what it was.

Anderson's car was in the driveway, and Alfred hoped he wasn't the one who opened the door once he knocked. It might have been almost two weeks since the incident, but Anderson's hateful words still rang in his ears. Someone who could hate a group of people that passionately for no reason wasn't about to get over his hatred just because he hasn't had to deal with the reason that made him explode like that.

Alfred raised his hand to knock on the door, well aware that everything that had happened that night had been his fault. His stomach dropped, heart beat filling his ears as he imagined everything that could happen once he knocked on the door. Most of them were actually impossible, but Alfred's brain wasn't thinking about possibility; he was more concerned about making everything worse for Arthur by trying to keep in contact with him.

 _I just have to apologize_ , Alfred thought, grinding his teeth as he swallowed his fear and knocked on the door. His knuckles rapped lightly against the solid white wood of the door. As he waited for the door to be opened, his heart rate continued to race. What if Anderson opened the door and treated Alfred like he had treated Arthur? Francis had warned that he would do it, and not feel bad about hitting on someone else's kid. Alfred tried to imagine what it would feel like to be punched in the face by an older man, who was just as muscular as he was and harbored a lot more hate in his heart. The thought terrified him.

The door finally opened, and right inside the house was Alice. Her eyes were wide when she saw that it was Alfred standing on the other side of the door. Her hand went momentarily to her mouth before looking around and stepping outside.

When the door was closed behind her, she leaned forward and whispered, "Alfred, sweetheart, what are you doing here?" Her eyes kept looking around, shifting nervously to take in their surroundings.

Alfred worried about the woman, but he couldn't ask her what she was so afraid of; he had a feeling that he knew what she was afraid of.

"I'm looking for Arthur," Alfred explained. "He hasn't been in school the last two weeks, and I'm worried about him. Is he here? Do you think I could talk to him?"

Alice's expression went from terrified to grief-stricken. She shook her head and looked down, her shoulders slumping. "Arthur hasn't been here, either, dear. He left about two days after you were here last." She looked up again, her eyes watering and body trembling. "I tried to convince him to stay, but Anderson was trying everything in his power to push my baby boy farther away. They got into another fight, Arthur disappeared upstairs for the rest of the night, and then when I went to wake him up the next morning, he was gone."

Alice's tears were streaming down her face, her words interrupted by hiccups of emotion. Alfred wasn't too sure what to do to try and comfort her, so he just stuck out his hand and patted her gently on the shoulder.

That small gesture seemed to break the dam of tears even further. Alice howled in pain, throwing herself forward and into Alfred's chest. Her tears seemed to burn Alfred's skin as they soaked through his thin T-shirt.

"I don't know where he went, and I don't know if he's okay," Alice sobbed. "But if you find him, Alfred dear, please bring him back home. I can't live with Anderson anymore, but I can't leave without Arthur. I have to have my baby boy back."

Alfred wrapped his arms around Alice's small frame, hugging her tightly as he promised her that he would bring Arthur back to her.

The front door to the house opened behind them. Alice jumped away from Alfred, wiping her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her dress. "What the hell are _you_ doing here, boy?" snarled an angry, deep voice. Alfred gulped, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he lifted his gaze to meet Anderson's.

"I'm just here to try and find Arthur, sir. He hasn't been at school for two weeks, and I'm worried about him." Alfred cringed and scolded himself mentally. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell Anderson that Arthur hadn't been in school. Maybe, if Arthur did happen to come back to the house for something, Anderson might make it more difficult for him.

"Of course he hasn't been to school. Without his mother to baby him, he probably got lost and starved to death on the side of the road. It'll do him some good to be out on his own." Anderson spat on the ground and reached for Alice. He gripped her shoulder so hard that Alfred could see his knuckled turning white and pulled her back towards him. "Hopefully it'll show him how unkind the world is to people like him."

The pure hatred that was showing on Anderson's face made something in Alfred's heart. He couldn't understand why Arthur had lived with this man for so long and dealt with his treatment, and why Alice had allowed it to go on for so long, but Alfred was going to have none of it.

"Excuse me, sir, but I don't think you're correct." His voice waivered slightly as he tried to suppress his anger. Showing that he had been affected by the other man's words in any way would only make Anderson believe he had won, and Alfred imagined that Anderson was unstable enough to believe he could get away with anything if he knew he had gotten under Alfred's skin.

Alice shook her head slightly, indicating for Alfred to shut up and not say anything else. However, the look on Anderson's face fueled Alfred's temper, all but forcing him to continue.

"A lot of people, especially parents around your age and students my age and younger, are perfectly fine with the LGBT community. The idea that there is something wrong with us and that we are diseased is outdated, and science has even proven that belief to be false. In today's world, being yourself - not even being gay or bisexual or transgender, but just being yourself and doing what makes you happy in general - has become the accepted way to live one's life, and it isn't fair for you to condemn someone just because of how they were born."

Anderson opened his mouth to protest, but Alfred wasn't quite finished with what he had to say. At the sight of Alice's horrified face, however, he decided to keep his next words short. "And, yes, sir, it is proven that you are born gay. Now, do you have any idea where I can find Arthur, or must I go in search of him blind?"

Anderson's face was red, his eyes nearly bugging out of his sockets as he was visibly holding in his anger. When he spoke, his words were chipped, hatred seeping from every syllable. "You should learn to respect your elders, boy. I don't care if your parents decided to raise you the wrong way, but that's not how it's done in my family. Now get off my property before I remove you by force. Don't you ever come around here again. And if you do, there will be trouble."

The door slammed shut in Alfred's face as Alice was dragged the rest of the way inside at the last second before the door could hit her.

Alfred walked back to his truck, rubbing his eyes so hard he began to see spots in his vision. When he reached the ancient vehicle, he climbed inside and slammed the door, not caring if anyone heard him this time around. Alfred focused on his breathing as he tried to calm himself down. He should have known he would get nowhere talking to that man, but he had at least hoped Arthur would be home so he could sneak upstairs and talk to him.

Digging into his jeans pocket, Alfred decided to try calling Arthur one more time.

The phone went straight to voicemail, which was a difference from the many times he had called before. Then, it had at rang at least three times before going to voicemail, which meant that Arthur had either turned his phone off to ignore Alfred further, or it had died. Alfred's fingers itched to try dialing Arthur's number again, just to be sure, but he forced himself to put his phone back in his pocket. He wouldn't get anywhere by sitting here hoping to get in touch with someone who had apparently disappeared without a trace. Even his own mother didn't know where he was!

Alfred slammed his hands down on his steering wheel, gritting his teeth in frustration as he wracked his brain. Who else besides his mother would Arthur confide in? He could understand why he wouldn't tell her anything - Anderson seemed to have her so scared senseless she might have told him where Arthur had gone in fear for her own life.

But Francis!

Alfred turned his truck on, not wanting to walk past Arthur's house (not because he was afraid of running into Anderson again, but because he was just too lazy to walk again. Yeah, that's it). It took him not even two minutes to reach Francis's driveway. He parked behind a black Jaguar, making sure to take note of how loaded Francis's parents apparently were, and not failing to also notice how dingy his beat up, hand-me-down truck looked in comparison to the almost-brand-new vehicle parked before him.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred shut off the engine to his truck and hopped out of the cab, making sure to throw a look over his shoulder at Arthur's yard. Just in case Anderson was outside and watching for him. When Alfred saw that the coast was clear, he sighed (but not in relief, oh no. He wasn't afraid) and made his way between the expensive vehicles.

At the door, Alfred took another deep breath, lifted his hand and prepared to knock. Before his knuckles could connect with the wood, however, the door flew open. Standing on the other side was a clean-shaven, fresh-looking Francis, his face twisted in disgust as he stared at the man standing before him.

"Can I help you?" He asked in disdain.

Alfred dropped his hand, twidling with his thumbs as he chewed on his bottom lip. Francis's gaze was cold, and Alfred could feel the hostility emanating from the other man. Looking up, swallowing the lump in his throat, Alfred said, "I'm really, _really_ worried about Arthur. I just came from his house hoping to find him, but his mother said he wasn't there, and hasn't been there for over a week..."

Francis gazed into Alfred's eyes for so long the jock began to feel uncomfortable. Francis's gaze was intense, his eyes twitching from one part of Alfred's face to another as he searched for something within the other's expression. Finally, the Frenchman sighed and stepped aside, swinging his arm out to indicate the room behind him. "That's because he's been here. Come in."


	9. Apologies Accepted

**A/N: Here is the ninth chapter of my story. I should be able to make the updates on time, considering I have the same day off every week. I don't know how many more chapters there are going to be, but I don't expect there will be many more. Five more, at the most.**

 **On that note, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to drop a review to let me know what you think.**

Francis was watching Alfred from across the kitchen table. His hands were teepeed in front of his face, his lips pursed and pressing against his fingers. Occasionally, the young Frenchman would look out the window, or down at his cell phone, but for the most part his eyes were locked on Alfred's face.

Frankly, Alfred had had enough of the silent staring.

"You said Arthur was with you," Alfred began. "Where is he? How come he hasn't been at school? Is he okay?" Hearing the worry in his own voice made Alfred cringe. He hated how concerned he sounded, especially for someone he had known for such a small amount of time, but he couldn't help it. It was his fault Arthur had gotten in trouble like that, and now that he had seen what Arthur has had to go through the majority of his life, Alfred hated himself for even trying to humiliate him.

Alfred's guilt began to overtake him again, and he felt his heart rate pick up a little bit of speed. Francis was still watching him, his eyebrows raised in question as Alfred's breathing became visibly more difficult. He felt as though his throat was constricting, his lungs shriveling up as he thought about how all of this could have been avoided if he had just been a little nicer to Arthur, if he had tried to be his friend instead of trying to impress the jackasses on the football team.

If Alfred ever regretted another thing in his life, this would still take the number one spot on his list of "Shitty Things I've Done to Cool People." Arthur was cool people, after he had gotten to know the boy a little better.

"I need to fix it, Francis," Alfred pleaded. "I need Arthur to know that I'm sorry. Please. Is he here now?"

Francis sighed, flattening his hands out on the table and spreading his fingers wide. Francis's eyes were sad as he answered. "He isn't here anymore. He left about two nights ago, claimed that he didn't need to hide anymore, and that he was going home. You said Alice hasn't seen him, so he obviously never went home."

Alfred gritted his teeth and pulled at his hair. "So there is nowhere he would go that you can think of? Nowhere where I can find him? Francis, I haven't seen him in ten days. I don't even know if he's okay, or if there's more that happened after we left."

"There's always more for people like us, Alfred," Francis murmured, folding his hands in front of him on the table and leaning his head on his knuckles. He sighed. "Try the park. It's a little run-down, but there's a bike trail behind the swings that leads to a lake. That was Arthur's favorite place to go when he first moved here, but as far as I know, he hasn't been there since we became friends."

Alfred's posture straightened. "The park? No one above the age of seven ever goes there, and last I know, it wasn't even safe for seven year olds anymore. Are you sure?"

Francis shrugged. "That's the only other place I know of. He doesn't have any friends but me, so he wouldn't go anywhere else."

"He has me, too..." Alfred murmured. His face fell as he watched Francis shake his head. "He will have me. I'll make it right. He has to come home."

Alfred rose from his chair, grabbing his varsity jacket and throwing it over his shoulders. "Good luck," he heard Francis say from behind him. The Frenchman didn't move to accompany Alfred to the door, but Alfred was glad he didn't. If Francis stuck around him too much, he didn't think he would ever be able to get rid of the guilty feeling that surrounded him. At least if he was by himself, he could find other things to focus on.

The wind was brisk as he exited the house. Alfred slid his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, and wondered briefly if Arthur was really at the lake even though there was a bite to the wind.

Half of him hoped Francis was wrong, but the other half hoped that Arthur really was at the lake. He also hoped that he hadn't been sleeping there the last few days he hadn't been at Francis's.

* * *

 _The yellow paint wasn't covering anything. The black marker and obnoxious colored spray paint still shown through the fresh coat of yellow that Alfred had sprayed on the monkey bars. The carvings weren't filled in, either; the paint only made the carvings of obscene guestures and words more pronounced than they had been before._

 _Alfred sighed in defeat. He looked at the can of spray paint in his hands and wondered if he should even bother trying to cover up the rest of the equipment. As he watched the yellow paint that he had already sprayed begin to drip down the pole, he shook his head._

 _A gravelly chuckle behind him drew his attention. There was a tall albino standing with two others, a medium-height, long-haired blonde and a small, dark-skin man. The albino was standing with his hands on his hips, his head tilted to the side and his chin jutting into the sky. The cocky expression on his face made Alfred's stomach turn._

 _"Why don't you toss that little can on the ground there and come over here for a second?" The albino's voice was just as coarse as his laugh._

 _Alfred looked again at the can in his hands and blinked._ Toss it on the ground. Right... _Alfred opened his raggedy messenger bag and tossed the half-empty can inside. Then he turned around completely and went up to the group of high schoolers._

 _The albino reached out his hand as Alfred approached. When Alfred was within touching distance, he reached out his slowly, grasping the albino's hand with caution._

 _"The name is Gilbert. And yours?"_

 _The blonde tilted his head to the side as he studied Alfred. "This is the kid who sits and watches football practice, Gil. The freshman boy."_

 _Gilbert's cocky expression turned into a sly grin. "So, in that case, you're going to be Sidekick from now on, okay?"_

 _Alfred's lip turned up in disdain. "My name is Alfred." His lip curled up even more as he met Gilbert's gaze._

 _Gilbert shrugged. "I prefer Sidekick, but whatever you say."_

Alfred shook his head to clear his mind. His fingers brushed against an engraving in the metal monkey bars. _Suck it._ How cute. Alfred grimaced as he remembered that his spray can had in fact ended up on the ground by the time he had left the park that day. With Gilbert's nagging and the judging eyes of the two men who were with him (Alfred realized now that Francis was the blonde man, but the name of the darker man still escaped his memory), he had given in to the incessant pressure and tossed the can from his bag as he was leaving. Alfred imagined he could still hear the clink of the metal as it hit the concrete of the parking lot.

Alfred hooked his fingernail into the carving, twisting his mouth as he looked around for the bike trail Francis had said was supposed to be there. All the times Alfred had been there with the football team, he had never seen a bike trail entrance, but he figured it a good thing. If the guys had known it was there, they probably would have vandalised that along with the rest of the park.

The entrance eluded him from his spot at the front of the park. Walking off to the side, Alfred kept his eyes on the edge of the forest. Francis had said the entrance was behind the swings, but Alfred couldn't see anything but tree limbs. As he squinted his eyes, scanning not only the space that was eye level, but the little bit of ground that he could see, Alfred thought he found something that looked like an opening.

As he made his way across the park, he noticed how much more graffiti the park now wore. The carvings and drawings were more obscene and frequent, overlapping the older drawings and covering some completely. Alfred recognized a few that he had done himself throughout the years, on the occassions that he had come with the boys from the football team. His stomach turned as he regretted everything he had become.

The opening to the bike trail was right where Francis had said it was. Alfred briefly wondered how he could have been so blind not to see it. He wondered, also, if Gilbert and the others had known it was here all along, and he imagined that when he stepped into the trees he would see vandalism worse than the park itself. But then an image of Arthur flashed through his mind. He had to go and stop reminiscing. He could hate himself later.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred swung his arm out, brushing aside the flimsy tree limbs that had blocked the entrance.

It was like he had stumbled into a whole other world. The bike trail wasn't like the ones he had been on when he had gone on family vacations. The trees seemed taller, as if they were the walls of a massive fortress. The air seemed cleaner, the wildlife was more abundant and playful. A family of squirrels ran across the trail, not even two feet in front of Alfred. He watched as they chased on another up the trees, jumping from branch to branch and chattering at each other.

A small smile touched Alfred's lips as he began to walk the trail, his eyes scanning the distance for Arthur. As he walked, he remembered more things about his freshman and sophomore year of high school that he had tried to forget. He remembered how much of an asshole he had become, how different he is now than he was when he was younger. He wished he could blame it all on Gilbert and the guys on the football team, but he wasn't that irresponsible. He was able to take the blame when it was his fault, and he also knew that he couldn't blame other people for him wanting to fit in.

Alfred became lost in his thoughts as he walked. He couldn't bring himself to concentrate on the trail in front of him, no matter how hard he tried to focus his vision and pull his thoughts away from the past. He remembered all the nasty things he had done and said to people, all the pranks he had pulled on the kids who weren't as popular as him. He remembered hating himself at first, and he remembered blocking out his conscience so it couldn't bother him.

He remembered when he lost himself.

"Watch where you're going." The voice pulled him out of his head, and Alfred looked up in surprise. He was at the lake. Walking right towards it, and he was less than a foot away from the edge of the water.

The voice had come from behind him, and at first he didn't recognize it. But as he played the sentence over in his head, he caught the slight British accent that was always hiding behind the strange pronunciation of the letters themselves.

Alfred's face lit up as he turned around, his head beginning to clear. But then he caught sight of Arthur's face, and his happy expression fell immediately. Guilt and regret washed over his body as his eyes traced the outline of the bruise that seemed to take up half of his face.

"Arthur..." Alfred choked out. "What happened to you?" Alfred took a few steps closer, his eyes never leaving Arthur's face. As he approached, he could see the myriad of colors within the bruise, could see that parts of it were fresh while others were in different stages of healing.

Alfred reached out a hand, his fingertips brushing gently against the swollen flesh of Arthur's face. The smaller boy flinched slightly, but remained quiet. "I'm so sorry I let this happen. I should have stayed and defended you. I should have tried to find you sooner." Alfred's voice cracked. He took that as a sign to stop talking, so he instead began to chew on the inside of his lip, a bad habit from when he was younger.

Arthur finally moved, turning his head towards Alfred and looking into his eyes. He couldn't hold his gaze for long, so Arthur turned his attention back to his lap. "According to half the school's population, you were the one who did this, so what does it even matter?"

It took a second for Arthur's words to sink in, but when they did, Alfred was shocked. He pulled his fingers back and held them against his chest. " _I_ did this? But I didn't - why would they think that?"

Arthur shrugged. His eyes began to pool as he heard Alfred walk closer to the bench he was sitting on. There was a slight dip in the old wood as the other boy sat down. Arthur could feel the warmth emanating from Alfred, could feel his confusion and distress. But he couldn't bring himself to talk. He didn't know what he could believe, if he could believe anything.

Alfred turned his body towards Arthur, flinging a leg over the bench and leaning forward. His eyes searched what little of Arthur's face he could see, silently willing the other to look at him, but Arthur's gazed remained down, his face hidden by the shadows that were beginning to stretch longer down the shore of the lake.

"I didn't tell anyone that I did it, dude," Alfred pleaded. "They must have thought that it was me because of - " Alfred cut himself off.

"Because of the deal you made." Arthur's voice was low, his words cold and clipped as he spoke. Alfred could hear the hurt behind his words.

So Francis had told him. Alfred figured Arthur did deserve to know, but he would have preferred it if he hadn't found out at all. That way, Alfred could be the hero the kid obviously needed, instead of the villian.

Alfred looked down in shame. "I can explain. Will you let me explain everything?" Alfred lifted his head and looked at Arthur. The Brit's body was shaking slightly, and Alfred was struggling to figure out if it was because of the cold, or if it was because of the tears that were dripping onto the boy's clenched hands. He assumed it was both as he watched the shaking grow worse.

"I can't believe I let myself trust you. I liked you, Alfred. I've liked you since I met you, and I tried not to. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't do any good to get worked up over a guy like you, and I was right. Oh boy, was I right. I should have known. I should have known..." Arthur's voice trailed off as his tears worsened. His shoulders began to shake more violently, his sobs growing louder.

Alfred couldn't take the sound. Not because he hated when people cried (for various reasons), but because he was the reason Arthur was crying in the first place. It was his fault, all his fault, and he couldn't live with the thought that he made this gentle, broken man cry because he had a garbage can for a personality.

He stood up in front of Arthur, who was paying him no mind as he continued to cry. Alfred gulped, tears beginning to brim in his eyes as he watched the man beneath him. Before any of his tears could fall, Alfred threw his arms around the small Brit's shoulder and held him tight.

Arthur began to fight immediately. His fists came up from his lap and began to swat at Alfred's sides and arms. Arthur's muffled voice was yelling at him to "let go, leave me alone and go away forever," but Alfred didn't listen. He ignored Arthur's hands as they beat against his sides weakly, holding the man tighter as the sobs grew worse.

When Arthur finally gave up, his brought his hands to entangle themselves in Alfred's varsity jacket. The fabric was warm, thick, and Arthur welcomed the warmth to his chilled fingers.

Arthur tried to control his breathing, focusing on the smell of Alfred that was floating around them. He buried his face into the cotton of Alfred's shirt, breathing deeply. Alfred's scent began to cloud Arthur's mind, calming him the longer he stayed with his face pressed against the abdomen of the young athlete.

Alfred watched and breathed slowly as Arthur calmed down. His hand rested on the back of the smaller male's head, his fingers entangled in the messy locks of his hair. Arthur's grip on his jacket was still tight, the fabric stretching in his grasp, but he didn't care as long as it helped Arthur to calm down.

When Arthur seemed to be completely calm, Alfred moved his hands to Arthur's shoulders and puched him back far enough to look him in his eyes. "Can I explain everything to you? Will you give me the chance to make things right? I'm sorry I hurt you. Please let me make it up to you." Alfred's voice was filled with regret, his every word dripping with concern.

Arthur didn't say anything. He held gazes with Alfred for a few moments longer before finally nodding slowly, removing his hands from Alfred's jacket.

Alfred's smile was wide as he wrapped his arms around Arthur once again, this time in a quick hug before removing his varsity jacket from around his shoulders. He flung the jacket over Arthur's shoulders, who was beginning to shiver from the chill that was floating in from the lake.

"Wha - ?" Arthur looked around in confusion as Alfred zipped the vasristy jacket closed, wrapping the sleeves around Arthur's body.

Shaking his head, Alfred smiled down at the smaller man and patted his back gently. "Stay warm, okay? We're going to my house to warm you up and get some food in your stomach, and then we are going to talk."

Without argument (Arthur didn't really think he had the energy to argue), Arthur grasped the inside of the jacket and pulled the warmth closer to his body. He followed Alfred out to where his truck was parked, on the far end of the parking lot.

On his way, his foot hit the top of a discarded, rusted can of spray paint.


	10. Starting Over

**A/N: Hello and welcome to the tenth chapter of "Lessons Learned." I don't know how well you guys are going to like this chapter, but I personally love it. I think it's my favorite that I've written for this story, and I hope hope hope you guys like it as much as I do. If it seems rushed, I'm sorry for that - I was just so excited to upload this and I wasn't sure what a good ending point would be. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and please don't forget to drop me a review to let me know what you think.**

Alfred lived not too far from Arthur's house. There were only a few miles between the homes of the two boys, and that realization made Arthur uncomfortable. He couldn't pinpoint the reasoning for his uneasiness, but the more he thought about the proximity between the front doors, the distance seemed to shorten in length and Arthur squirmed in his seat.

"You good, man?" Alfred asked as he pulled into his driveway. It was a rather large driveway, able to fit maybe three cars side by side with still enough room to allow the owners access to their doors.

Arthur turned his head farther away from Alfred as he nodded, looking out the window at the rest of the yard. He couldn't see much other than the garage, which was open and littered with spare vehicle parts and tools, and the corner of the house. There was a garden that led from the edge of the driveway around the corner of the house and into the backyard. Arthur wondered if that was Alfred's mother's hobby.

Alfred turned the truck off, and the silence that filled the cab was deafening. Arthur could sense that there was something Alfred wanted to say to him, and he hoped with everything in him that he didn't say it. He held his breath as he waited for Alfred to say something, anything, but the only noise he heard was the driver's side door opening.

Exiting the truck after Alfred, Arthur released the breath he had been holding as he followed Alfred to the edge of the driveway. There was a narrow stone path connecting the driveway to the enclosed porch, where Arthur could see the silhouettes of large potted plants and gym equipment.

The house itself was a large, single story home. The outside looked like it could be in a magazine, with the light cream paint and the dark stone accents around each window and at the corners.

Alfred's chuckle brought Arthur out of his thoughts. "The inside isn't as pretty, I promise." There was a hint of emotion under Alfred's breath, but Arthur couldn't quite figure out what that emotion was.

"Come on, dude." Alfred peered over his shoulder and smiled down at Arthur. "Let's go inside and get you warmed up, shall we?" As he began to walk down the path, Arthur following close behind him, the Brit caught a slight shiver run down the jock's back. He almost felt bad for having kept Alfred's jacket for as long as he had, but then he shivered as well. When he pulled the jacket tighter around his body, Arthur's nose was filled with Alfred's scent again and he ignored the fact that Alfred needed his jacket just as much as he did himself. He wanted to hold on to Alfred'd scent for as long as he could, and he hated himself for it.

The inside of the enclosed porch was, like Arthur had predicted, covered in large, potted plants. Some were fake, and some were real, but all were hideous. Some of the leaves of the plants were so large that they hid the smaller gym machines entirely.

Arthur turned his head and studied the odd choice of decor as he followed Alfred through the porch. Plant leaves brushed against his arms and legs as he walked, tickling his cheeks and brushing through his hair.

Something over in the corner, on the far side of the porch, caught Arthur's attention. It was a large crate with a glass door, althought he couldn't make out what was inside the crate from the angle he was at. The only thing he could make out was what looked like the handle to a sword.

A large, plastic leaf smacked Arthur right in the face. He sputtered, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to Alfred, who was maybe two feet in front of him, standing on the top of another, small set of stairs. The door to what Arthur assumed was the rest of the house was open, Alfred's hand gripping the door knob.

"Are you coming?" Alfred's voice was filled with confusion, his eyebrows raised and his head tilted to the side as he watched Arthur.

"What's in that case over there?" Arthur asked, raising his arm long enough to point in the direction of the glass crate. His eyes shifted back over to the case, but when he heard Alfred sigh, his eyes found the blonde once again.

Alfred released the door knob, walking down the remaining two steps and closing the distance between himself and Arthur. "Apparently, my great-great-great-great grandfather had fought in the Vietnam war, and he had confiscated that sword from a Viet Cong soldier, and used it to kill him with. Apparently." Alfred rolled his eyes and leaned down closer to Arthur, lowering his voice. "I think my dad just bought it at a pawn shop, and had come up with some stupid story about so mom wouldn't make him get rid of it."

Arthur chuckled when he saw the expression on Alfred's face. His eyebrows were stitched together in doubt, his top lip curled up and nose crinkled. Arthur stared at Alfred's face, and he noticed how chapped the other's lips were. His heart thumped in his chest.

Alfred straightened up. "Come on, Artie, we have to clean you up. That bruise looks nasty." Alfred reached down and grasped Arthur's hand, all but dragging the stunned boy up the stairs and into the house.

Facing the door was a large couch, with another blonde man lounging on the couch with a blunt in his mouth. Even from the distance, and from looking at the side of the other man's face, Arthur could tell that him and Alfred were related somehow. When he spoke, his voice was real quiet and soft, almost too quiet for Arthur to hear. But he caugh the words, nonetheless, and wondered briefly if they had been meant for only Alfred to hear.

"Which one is it this time, Al?"

Instead of answering, Alfred's grip on Arthur's hand tightened as he continued to pull him through the house. The blonder boy on the couch sat up, turning his head to follow Alfred's and Arthur's path through the living room.

"Alfred - " the boy began.

At the blonde boy's voice, Arthur turned his attention from the fact that Alfred was still holding his hand to the direction the voice had come from. His eyes widened in shock at the resemblance between Alfred and the boy on the furniture. _They have to be twins_ , Arthur thought. _But how come I've never seen him at school before?_

"If mom calls, let her know we will be having a guest over for the next few nights, alright? Thanks, Mattie. You're the best." Alfred stopped in front of a door that was on the wall to the left of the sofa. To the right of the door was a hallway that Arthur assumed led to the bathroom and the bedrooms, since the he could look into the kitchen from where he was before the mysterious, unmarked door.

"Alright, but I'm not the one who let you do it," confirmed the boy on the couch ( _Mattie_ , Arthur remembered) before he laid back down and pulled hard on the joint.

Alfred nodded his head in the boy's direction before opening the door in front of them. When the door opened, a light came on right inside that illuminated a steep staircase leading downstairs.

 _A basement?_ Arthur's head filled with different scenarios (impossible scenarios) about everything that could happen down in the basements of strange people's houses. And, even though he wouldn't exactly consider Alfred strange, he couldn't reall consider him a friend at the moment, either. Besides, Arthur knew nothing about Alfed's family, so they could very well be extremely strange people and have some weird, unmentionable things hidden underneath their home.

"Come on," Alfred urged. "My room is downstairs. There's a bathroom down here, so you can shower and clean up, and then we can find something to eat. I bet you're starving, huh?" Alfred led Arthur down the stairs, making sure to take care with his steps so that Arthur didn't trip and crash into him, which would have sent them both tumbling down the stairs.

The basement was dimly lit, the light from the top of the stairs filtering poorly into the room beyond the staircase. When Alfred and Arthur reached the bottom of the stairs, Alfred reached over and flicked a switch on the wall to their left, which illuminated the rest of the basement.

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise at the sight that met him. The basement was spotless. There was a King sized bed in the center of the room, a dresser and desk on the wall directly across from the bed, with a large television hanging on the wall in front of the bed. One entire wall was covered in bookshelves, all overflowing with books and small knick knacks from different tourist sites across the state.

Alfred watched in amusement as Arthur examined his room, the Brit's legs taking him immediately to the bookcases. His fingers brushed against the spines of the books, some of them so faded he could barely make out the titles or the authors.

"A lot of those were here when we moved in. We didn't have the time to do anything with them, but none of us really read, either," Alfred explained as he walked across the basement to the closet. It was on the opposite wall that the books were on, with a single bright white sliding door. When Alfred slid open the door, he was met by multiple suits that he had only ever worn once, and dress shoes he had yet to take out of the boxes.

On the shelf above the suits were towels and other shower necessities. He reached up and grabbed a towel and some rags. When he turned around, he saw Arthur with an old, large book in his hand, pouring over the words. Chuckling, Alfred closed the closet door and walked over to where Arthur was still standing in front of the first bookcase.

"You know, you can read whatever you want from here," Alfred offered. "They haven't been touched for years, so I'm sure they would appreciate it."

Arthur glanced up from the book in confusion, his eyebrows stiched together and creasing his forehead. When what Alfred had said finally clicked, the confusion gave way to joy. "Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly. "These are so old. They could fall apart so easily."

Alfred shrugged. "Like I said, none of us really read. We just don't know what to do with them. Even we know you can't just throw books away."

Arthur looked back down at the book in his hands before hugging it to his chest tightly. "Thank you," he murmured, his cheeks burning red.

"Don't thank me yet. I still need to get you into the shower and see what I can do about your bruises. Then you can thank me." Alfred took the book from Arthur's hands and placed it back on the bookshelf, lying face down on top of the other books so Arthur didn't have to search for it when he wanted to read it again. "Come on, the shower is over here." Alfred led Arthur to the bathroom, which was set in the wall opposit the stairs.

The bathroom was larger than the one in Arthur's home. There was a shower on the wall to his right, a separate tub on the wall directly in front of him, and a large counter the took up almost the entire wall on his left. The mirror above the counter stretched to the ceiling, and was probably wider than his wingspan.

"You don't have to do this, Alfred," Arthur mumbled, his cheeks still burning bright red. "It's alright, really. I can just go back to Francis's house. I don't want to be a burden."

Alfred turned around and threw his arm over Arthur's shoulder. "Nonsense. It's my turn to take care of you. Besides, we still have to talk. You agreed to let me explain everything, and that's exactly what I am going to do. But you have to get cleaned up first, because you don't look so wel. Okay?" At Arthur's slight nod, Alfred patted the smaller man on the back and handed him the bundle of towels and shampoos. "You can use these. When you're done, there will be some clothes over on the counter that I think will fit you. You can wear those tonight."

When Alfred left the bathroom, he closed the door softly.

Arthur sighed, placing the towels on the edge of the counter. There was a large, plush rug in the center of the bathroom, and it felt amazing on his feet. He wanted to stand there for a little while longer, just curling his toes in the comfort of the rug, but he remembered that Alfred mentioned food. Arthur's stomach growleed loudly.

 _I just hope it's actual food, and not that garbage he calls a restaurant_ , Arthur thought in disdain as he climbed into the steaming shower. The spray of the water felt amazing on his scrapes and bruises, and the steam from the warm water helped to clear up his sinuses.

Arthur let his head fall back as he thought about the last two weeks. They weren't the greatest, but he couldn't honestly say they were the worst he's ever lived through. He closed his eyes as the water beat against his face and neck, his breathing slowing down as his muscles relaxed. The vanilla scent of Alfred's soap and shampoo also helped to relax the Brit, and he found himself thinking how lucky he was that Alfred had found him.

As Arthur poked gently at the bruises on his face and neck, he heard a soft knock at the door. With his finger still touching his dark purple cheek, he poked his head out of the shower. He was met with wide blue eyes.

"You've been in there a while. Are you alright?" Alfred's voice was full of concern, his face bright red.

Arthur could feel his face heating up as well, his wet hair clinging to his forehead and dripping water into his eyes. "Yeah, I will be out in a minute." He quickly hid behind the shower curtain again, the warm water sending a shiver down his back as it beat against his bruise.

When he heard the door close again, Arthur turned the water off. The cold air as he stepped out of the shower hit him like a brick wall, raising the goosebumps along his arms and the back of his neck.

Like Alfred has said, there was a pile of clothes on the edge of the sink. When he inspected the clothes, Arthur noticed how much bigger they were than what he normally wore. The shirt was one of those tacky "America the Great" T-shirts, covered in red, white, and blue, with a giant bald eagle head in the center of the shirt, but the colors were faded and the bald eagle's paint was cracking and missing in some places.

A small smile turned up the corners of Arthur's lips as he slid the shirt over his head. It smelled like Alfred.

The shorts he was given were the type of shorts you would wear to the gym. They ended way past his knees, but there was a string on the inside that he could pull and the shorts stayed up on his slim hips. The fabric was loose around his legs, soft and breathable, and he appreciated the fact that he was able to move confortably around in them.

With Alfred's scent floating around him and clinging to his damp skin, Arthur exited the bathroom. He was met with the welcoming smell of home-cooked food. He couldn't quite detect what it was that he was smelling, but it was making his mouth water nonetheless.

The food was sitting on two trays by the bed, tall glasses of water sitting beside the plates. Arthur could see steam rising from the plates. Beyond the steam, he could also see Alfred, on the other side of the room, with his shirt off.

Arthur couldn't swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. He could see, even from the distance the two boys were from one another, the muslces on Alfred's back ripple as he tied the strings to his sweat pants. Not to sound too cliche (which was something Arthur hated), but he couldn't help but think how much more goregous Alfred was shirtless and wearing sweatpants that were clearly too big for him.

"What's for dinner?" Arthur cringed at how strained his voice sounded to him, but he forgot about that as soon as Alfred moved, looking over his shoulder and smiling at him. The ripple of his muslces almost distracted him from the brightness of Alfred's smile. Almost.

Alfred seemed to realize that he was still only half-dressed. His eyebrows raised and his cheeks were a light pink as he turned back around, his hands going down to the hem of his sweatpants and tugging them up. "Sorry, dude," he mumbled. "I forgot that I still had to put a shirt on."

Arthur's eyes never left Alfred's back as the tall blonde searched through his drawers for a shirt to wear. "Uh... no, no, that's - you don't have to - okay."

Alfred's shoulders bounced and he chuckled. "What, dude? Don't want me to get dressed? I don't have to, you know." Alfred looked up towards Arthur, a smirk on his lips as he watched the Brit's reaction.

Arthur's eyes widened in shock, his cheeks burning a bright red. He began to fidget with the hem of his borrowed shirt, struggling to avert his eyes from the half-naked hunk before him. "That's - okay - no, you can... yeah, I don't - okay." Arthur's cheeks burned even brighter at his stupidity, and he forced himself to turn away when he heard Alfred's slight chuckle turn into a full-on laugh.

"You're cute, man," Alfred called from the other side of the bed. "But you can turn around now. I'm decent ( _You mean gorgeous_ , Arthur thought stupidly)."

When Arthur turned around, he tried to look anywhere but at Alfred's grinning expression. He could feel his face burning so hot he was beginning to sweat, his hands shaking slightly in fear of what Alfred would say next.

"Mom made steak, medium-rare, so I hope you like it to bleed. I know you're one of those people who tries to stick as close to that weird 'food pyramid' thing as possible, so I made sure she put more greens on your plate than anything else. I, personally, don't like vegetables, so you can have mine too, if you want."

Arthur looked up in relief when he heard the smile in Alfred's voice. Alfred was sitting on the edge of the bed behind one of the trays, already scooping his vegetables onto the other plate. "Asparagus and squash," Alfred explained, smiling through the grimace on his face.

Arthur scrunched up his face as well, not sure if those two vegetables would taste very well together. At Alfred's reassuring nod, though, he sat down beside the jock and stared at the plate in hunger. His stomach growled loudly, bringing a bright blush to his face.

The food really did look amazing, despite the obscene amount of pink that was in his steak. Mouth watering, Arthur picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of asparagus.

"Now, before you chow down," Alfred chuckled. "Is it safe to say we're friends again?"

Arthur's fork froze in midair, his eyes cutting across to watch Alfred. Smirking, he straightened up and motioned to the food on his plate. "If your mom's food is really as good as you say it is, then yeah, sure."

Alfred's grin was wider than Arthur had ever seen it. "Well, in that case - you're going to be my new best friend."


	11. Reunited

**A/N: I never realized how horrible I was at spelling until I read through everything a few times, and I apologize so much for the cringey language and the poor spelling. I started using a different writing app, so hopefully I will be able to catch more of my mistakes from now on.**

 **I am updating this story a little early, since I won't be able to update it on the usual day, which is the excuse I'm using for this chapter being a little rushed and not as well-thought-out as I would have liked. I expect to have another chapter posted on Thursday of next week, and hopefully that one will be more satisfactory.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and showing their support for this story, even if they weren't a fan of what happened in a few of the chapters. And even if you haven't been reviewing, thank you so much to everyone who has been reading. I love knowing that there are people who are enjoying my stories. Thank you so much again for reading, and don't forget to drop me a review and let me know what you think. Your reviews make writing so much more worth it.**

There was warmth. It enveloped Arthur, caressing his skin and dancing through his veins. He felt good, a feeling that lately had been difficult to come by. He wanted to stay in bed, wrapped up in this amazing warmth, until his bruises healed and his memory faded.

Arthur nuzzled his head further into the pillow, breathing in the scent of Alfred that clung to the pillows and the clothing he was wearing. As he breathed in, Arthur felt something tickle the side of his face and nose as he breathed. The pillow was slightly damp he noticed, and not as soft as it had been when he had first gone to bed. When he breathed in again, he caught the slight scent of sweat clinging to the more dominant scent that he had come to adore.

Alfred.

A small smile pulled at Arthur's lips as he nuzzled his face into the scent of Alfred. Now he definitely didn't want to open his eyes or leave the bed - not if Alfred was there with him, sleeping so close and -

 _What?_

Arthur sat up quickly, his eyes flying open as he glanced down at the man beside him. It was indeed Alfred. Shirtless and breathing deeply. Goosebumps erupted along Arthur's arms and the back of his neck as he watched the other boy sleep. Alfred looked so peaceful while he slept, Arthur couldn't help but stare. His eyes wandered from Alfred's face towards his chest, which was, Arthur realized now, where his face had been pressed. Alfred's chest hair was matted slightly from where Arthur's head had rested, his chest rising slightly from his breathing.

Arthur gulped, his eyes beginning to feel more and more heavy the longer he stared at his crush. He tried to tell himself that having feelings for this man was dangerous, look what it had already done to him, but he couldn't shake the feeling. The longer he watched Alfred sleep, the wider and softer his smile became. He thought about how kind Alfred had been to him, and how he had never physically hurt him. He thought about the tears in Alfred's eyes as he apologized, practically begging Arthur to forgive him and to give him another chance to prove that he wasn't a complete asshole.

Arthur's heart clenched as he remembered everything that had happened yesterday. Alfred had been so kind, so patient, so giving. He wondered what had happened to make the young jock act so tough and careless and mean towards others when he obviously wasn't that type of person.

"Do you see something you like, or am I just that disgusting that you can't take your eyes off me?" Alfred's voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts. The Brit squeaked, his face turning bright red as he brought his eyes up from Alfred's hair-covered chest to his face. Alfred's eyes were wide without his glasses, and bluer than anything Arthur had ever seen.

Gulping, Arthur forced an angry expression on his face and yipped, "What do you think you're doing, moving over to my side of the bed like that? I didn't tell you it was okay to coddle all over me, did I?" Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Alfred with as angry an expression as he could muster through the blush.

Alfred's laugh threw off the Brit, his angry expression slipping as he watched Alfred's eyes crinkle at the corners. "I don't know if you noticed, dude, but I stayed on the side of the bed that I fell asleep in last night. _You're_ the one who moved to cuddle with me." Alfred continued to laugh, his shoulders beginning to shake as he sat up in bed.

Arthur's face burned an even brighter red as he looked over his shoulder, noticing that he had, in fact, migrated from his side of the bed to Alfred's. Turning back around to Alfred, Arthur clenched his fists and forced himself not to stare as he pointed accusingly at Alfred's bare chest. "Well then, what in the heck happened to your shirt? Huh?"

Alfred laughed again, this time louder than before. He laughed so hard his whole body began to shake. "I got hot. I normally don't sleep with a shirt on, but I put it on anyway because you were here. I must have taken it off while I was sleeping. Sorry." He didn't appear to be sorry, considering the fact that he hopped out of bed and stretched so tall that the muscles in his back rippled, drawing Arthur's attention to his semi-naked form.

Blushing fiercely, Arthur threw his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his arms above his head. As he stretched, his bruises began to tingle and burn. Wincing slightly, Arthur dropped his hands into his lap and bent forward, the pain from his bruises hitting him all at once.

"Twenty minutes, lovely."

Arthur jumped at the sudden outburst, his cheeks burning red as he tried to understand what Alfred was talking about. "Twenty minutes for... what?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder and watching as Alfred dug through his dresser drawers. Arthur's imagination began to run wild with possibilities about what he had twenty minutes for. Until he was kicked out? Until Alfred switched back to the douche bag Arthur had imagined him to be? What if Anderson was upstairs, and he had twenty minutes to figure out how he was going to defend himself? Arthur's heart raced as he continued to think about what he could possibly be in for, no matter how outrageous the scenario was. His imagination never made sense when he was close to panicking.

But what Alfred said next was worse than anything Arthur could have thought of.

"Twenty minutes to decide if you want to go to school or not."

Arthur's heart seemed to stop at the sentence. What day was it? Did he really have to go back to school? What about his clothes? His books? He wasn't mentally prepared to go back to school, and he hoped he could convey his panic and worry to Alfred through his rapidly-beating heart and the sweat that had erupted suddenly all over his body.

A hand touched down gently on his shoulder. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, dude. I promise."

Alfred's touch soothed Arthur. He felt his heartbeat slow down to a steady, calming pace. His mind cleared of the fog that had begun to settle over his thoughts. His body was still covered in nervous sweat, but his hands shook no more. Arthur focused his senses on the warmth that was radiating from Alfred's body, his mind zeroing in on the hand that was still resting on his shoulder. He tried to take as much comfort in Alfred's touch as he could, but he couldn't erase the deep feeling of fear in his heart.

"No, no," Arthur mumbled. "I have to go back. I've already missed so much. I can't just..." Arthur leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He could feel tremors traveling through his body again, shaking his legs and shoulders as he tried to suppress the panic that was rising quickly to his throat.

The bed dipped as Alfred climbed onto it. He pressed his forehead against the back of Arthur's head, breathing slowly and deeply as he rubbed his hands along Arthur's arms. When the smaller boy seemed to be a little calmer, Alfred moved over and sat beside him.

"Your mental health is just as important - _more_ important - than school, Arthur," Alfred murmured. "Besides, you've already missed two weeks. What's one more day?" The laughter at the last sentence was forced, and Alfred cringed at how obvious it was.

He watched as Arthur's shoulder slumped. He could tell by the strained look on his face that he was thinking hard about what he should do, and what he was ready to do. Alfred sat beside him patiently, his hand resting lightly on Arthur's shoulder as he thought.

"Okay." Arthur straightened up and glanced over at Alfred, his eyes strained and lips a straight line. "I'm not ready to go back to school yet. I can't."

Alfred nodded in understanding. "Three day weekend then?" he asked jokingly, forcing yet another laugh to try and lighten the mood. He rubbed Arthur's arm one more time before hopping off the bed. "First things first - breakfast!"

Arthur tried to protest as Alfred tossed some clothes over to him, but the growling of his stomach silenced him. Looking down at the clothes in his hands, Arthur noticed that they weren't his own that he had worn there the night before. "What happened to my clothes?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Alfred was rummaging through another drawer, his over-sized sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Arthur turned around again, blushing profusely. He wrapped his hands in the clothes that he had sitting on his lap, focusing to control the urge to turn back around.

"They're dirty," Alfred explained. "You were wearing them for God knows how long, and they smelled like dirt and sweat. They definitely need to be washed. I was planning on tossing them in before we left. Is that alright?"

 _If he washes our clothes together, does that mean my clothes will smell like his...?_

Arthur shook his head roughly, clearing his throat as a lump began to form there. "Uh… y-yeah. That's fine." He stood up, shaking out the clothes in his hands.

"Alright, cool. I'm just gonna go toss these in upstairs real quick and then we can go get some food."

Arthur heard Alfred's footsteps as he made his way up the stairs. When he heard the basement door close, he sighed and glanced down at the clothes he had been given. There was a pair of jeans so faded at the knees that the material was paper thin and almost white. As he inspected the length of the legs, Arthur noticed that the bottoms had been cut off and sewn carelessly. There were frays all along the legs and pockets of the jeans. Questioning if these even belonged to Alfred, Arthur quickly replaced his over-sized gym shorts for the jeans. Amazingly, they fit perfect. They were also soft, Arthur noted with surprise.

The shirt he had been given was similar to the one he had worn to bed. Similar in the fact that it was America themed, that is. The new shirt was black. On the front was a ripped American flag on the moon, with the hashtag "pwned" in large purple lettering across the top of the shirt.

Arthur rolled his eyes as he studied the shirt. He was beginning to worry about Alfred's fashion sense – or better yet, lack thereof.

 _At least it's better than the one I'm wearing now_ , Arthur thought in disgust, shedding the ages-old shirt and tossing it on the bed. He stared at the shirt in his hands a little longer, wondering if he wanted to even bother wearing something so embarrassing.

A wolf whistle from somewhere behind him made him jump and turn around. It was Alfred, standing at the base of the stairs with a smirk on his face.

"You know, I think I finally understand why you stared at me every day," Alfred announced. "Shirtless men are kind of hot."

Arthur's cheeks burned hot as he turned back around, throwing the shirt over his head as quickly as he could without looking like he had been affected by Alfred's comment. He could feel his whole body burning with embarrassment as he straightened out his borrowed clothes and turned back around towards Alfred.

He was still standing at the stairs, leaning against the railing with his chin propped up on his arms. The smirk was still present, stronger than it had been before.

"What?" Arthur asked, tugging unconsciously at the hem of his shirt.

"I've never seen you wear anything but those atrocious dress pants. Jeans look good on you," Alfred explained, walking farther into the room and grabbing two pairs of shoes from the corner.

Arthur's blush deepened. "My dress pants aren't ' _atrocious_ ,' you uncultured twat. They're very comfortable and they look good."

Alfred's laugh was loud and unforgiving, his smirk turning into a smile as he tossed Arthur's shoes over to him. "Come on, dude. I'm hungry."

* * *

He said it before, and he would say it for the rest of his life: McDonald's was as far from food as a person could get. They had gone to the same McDonald's they had went to before, the first time they had hung out together. When they had entered the building, Arthur's stomach had turned in on itself, and he hadn't been sure if it was because of the smell or the memory he associated with the establishment.

"Hey man, are you okay?" Alfred asked from behind the steering wheel. "You're doing that weird silent thing again." They pulled up to a red light, Alfred's ancient truck shaking violently as they waited for the light to turn.

"Where are we going?" Arthur's voice was quiet, muffled slightly as he turned his head closer towards the window. He watched as late-morning joggers rounded the corner, followed closely by two large dogs.

Alfred sighed. "I made a promise to someone, so I am following through on that promise."

Arthur nodded. He closed his eyes, focusing on the lurching of the truck as it began to move once again. Alfred's scent was everywhere. It had been absorbed by the fabric of the seats, it clung to the clothes he wore, his skin and his hair. With every breath, his mind became more and more clouded with Alfred's scent.

 _I'm drowning in the scent that I've spent the last two years yearning to be surrounded in,_ Arthur thought as he snuck a glance over at Alfred. His eyes were set on the road, his bottom lip pinched in between his teeth as he neared another red light.

 _"Which one is it this time, Al?"_ Arthur struggled to ignore what that question meant, but it was painfully obvious. The only question is – was it women or men? Both? _He seemed pretty shocked that it was me, but then again, it could have been because of my face. Does even Alfred's brother know? How many other people know about what Alfred did? God, I was so stupid._

Arthur was too lost in his thoughts to realize that the truck had been stopped and the engine turned off. When the passenger door opened, spilling the young Brit from the seat, he looked around in confusion.

The first thing he saw was Alfred. He felt Alfred's arms wrapped around him, holding him steady against his body so he didn't fall onto the pavement. When he pushed himself away from Alfred, he noticed where they were.

His house.

"But Anderson - !" Arthur exclaimed. He fought to climb back inside the truck, but Alfred's grip was firm. "He can't see me, Al, you don't understand!"

Alfred pulled Arthur towards him again, placing his chin on the top of his head until he calmed down. "Anderson can't see you because he isn't here. Your mother misses you, Artie, and she's been worried about you. At least go see her and let her know you aren't dead."

Arthur swallowed past the lump that had begun to form in his throat. True to his words, Arthur noticed that Anderson's car wasn't in the driveway. His shoulders relaxed instantly.

"Let's go see my mother, then," he whispered, stepping away from Alfred and making his way towards the front door.

The door wasn't locked. Arthur wondered if his mother had been leaving it unlocked ever since he left, hoping that he would walk right through the front door like nothing had happened. As soon as he stepped inside, Alfred right behind him, he was enveloped into a warm, tight, familiar hug. He could feel tears fall onto his shoulder, moistening the borrowed shirt and sending a shiver down his spine.

"Oh, my baby," Alice whimpered, her voice strained from her tears. She looked up and smiled softly at Alfred. "I didn't think you would actually be able to find him. Thank you so, so much. I could never repay you enough."

Arthur could hear the smile in Alfred's voice as he answered. "You weren't the only one worried about him, ma'am. I'm glad he was okay when I found him."

Arthur's heart wrenched when his mother asked her next question: "Are you going to stay?" He could tell by the tone of her voice that she already knew the answer.

He backed up enough to look her in the eye. "I can't." Just the thought of being in the same house with Anderson was causing his heartbeat to quicken and his body to shake. A cold sweat broke out all over his body.

He released his mother, stepping back and moving around her to make his way upstairs. "I have to grab a few things. I will be fine." Alfred stayed behind and watched, along with Alice, as Arthur disappeared.

"Will you keep him with you?" Alice asked suddenly, turning to Alfred and grabbing his hands. Her grip was tight – so tight her knuckles were turning white. Alfred's bones rubbed together, but he kept the pain out of his expression when he saw how distressed Arthur's mother was.

He glanced up at the ceiling, where he could hear muffled footsteps as Arthur gathered his belongings. "I doubt he would want to stay with me, but I will make sure he is taken care of, no matter where he decides to go. I promise." When Alfred smiled down at Alice, he noticed tears streaming down her face. Her makeup was running, black eyeliner and mascara smeared across her reddened, puffy cheeks. Her eyes were swollen from crying.

"You are the greatest friend he could have right now. Thank you."

Alfred cringed. He wished he could accept her thanks, but all he did was nod slightly in the direction of the stairs. "I'm going to go see if he needs any help up there. Thank you, Mrs. - "

"Allie," she interrupted. "Just call me Allie. It's what Arthur's father used to call me."

Alfred's smile widened. "Thank you, Allie, for caring so much about your son." With a wrenching heart, Alfred made his way up the stairs, taking two at a time. Maybe Arthur didn't want to stay with him any longer than he already had, but he needed to know that Alfred was there for him. He needed to help as much as he possibly could. He needed Arthur to know that he would be there to help fix everything he had broken.


	12. Damage Control

**A/N: My goal for this chapter was to focus mainly on the relationship between Francis and Arthur. There isn't enough love between the two, I feel, and this chapter is kind of my attempt to show their relationship and to show how much they actually do value one another. Plus, I love writing their relationship, so this chapter is also my excuse to get my platonic FrUK fix.**

 **Thank you so much for sticking with me this far, and I'm glad you all are enjoying the story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, as well, and don't hold the sudden mood change in the last chapter and the beginning of this one against me. There is a reason, I promise you. Thank you all again so much, and don't forget to drop me a review to let me know what you think.**

 **Also, I am going through some mental/emotional problems right now, both with my relationship and with where I am in life in general, so I'm not too sure how often I will be in the mood to write. I will try to get my emotions calmed down enough to where I can write at least a little something, but as of right now I look at the computer screen and everything is a horrible blank. But, here's hoping for some magical ideas in the world of imagination.**

 _Francis's hand was warm as he caressed Arthur's cheek. The young Brit shivered as the Frenchman ran his fingertips down from his cheekbone to the curve of his neck. He was sensitive there, and for some reason, Francis knew just where to touch to get him to squirm in his seat._

 _"You are the most exquisite man I have ever laid eyes on, do you know that, Arthur?" Francis's voice was low, practically a whisper as he leaned in closer to Arthur's ear. His breath was warm and moist as it ruffled his hair and danced across his skin._

 _"Francis, I don't think - " Arthur choked out, his cheeks burning red and his fingernails digging into his thigh. He cut off his words as Francis leaned in and nipped at the tip of his ear. The action sent a shiver of emotion through his body. His heart beat erratically as he tried to form his emotion into words._

 _Francis's hand traveled from Arthur's neck to his wrist. His grip was loose, fingertips barely brushing against his skin, as if he was allowing Arthur the time that he needed to think._

 _"How many handsome men have you had, Arthur? Seven? Ten?" Francis's voice was low, sexual, and teasing. "Or am I your first one?"_

 _Arthur squirmed. He pulled his wrist out of Francis's grasp, sliding farther onto his bed so that his back was against the wall. His heart was still beating frantically, which he fought to control as he struggled to find the words he needed to say._

 _Francis watched, his eyes narrowed in sexual need, as Arthur's chest rose and fell._

 _"I can't, Francis," Arthur choked out. "I appreciate that you like me and everything, but I just... can't." His throat seemed to burn as he talked, the words spilling from his lips in a hurry._

 _Francis's eyes widened back to how they usually looked, his body straightening back up and the sexual, predatory expression falling from his face. He smiled warmly at Arthur, who had brought his knees up to his chest and was hugging them tightly. "That is fine, my dear," Francis hummed. "I will respect your decision because I am your friend. But, Papa still needs his hug." Francis leapt across the bed, his arms outstretched and ready to grab Arthur._

 _"No, you damned frog! I don't want your slimy sex hugs!"_

* * *

Arthur's mouth was a thin line. His duffel bag was packed, dead cell phone shoved into the back pocket of the jeans ( _I guess they're good for something_ , Arthur thought begrudgingly as he shoved his phone's charger deep into one of the front pockets).

"I just think that maybe Francis might not want to see you," Alfred argued, his hands flailing around him in his desperation. "I mean, you did lie to him." Alfred wanted to take a step forward, to embrace the small man before him, to do anything that would help calm him down and loosen up his tense shoulders, but Alfred restrained himself. Even he could tell by Arthur's body language that he didn't want to be bothered. Which struck the jock as odd, but he decided not to question the Brit's change of attitude.

Arthur's voice was low. "I didn't intend to lie to him. I tried to come home. I just couldn't," he explained. "So I went somewhere else until I was able to bring myself to come back. Francis has always been there for me. And even if my lie was intentional, he wouldn't hold it against me."

Alfred scoffed, then immediately took a step back and regretted having let the noise escape him. "Francis just wants to sleep with you, though, I'm pretty sure. And, besides, a lie is a lie. So, yeah. If I were you, I would just come with me so I could, you know, protect you and stuff."

" _'Protect me_?' ' _A lie is a lie?'_ Do you even hear yourself!?" Arthur turned around without warning, the duffel bag swinging from his arm and tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "And what do you call everything that you did? I think lying about going home - whether it was intentional or not - is a hell of a lot more forgivable than pretending to like someone just to embarrass them in front of the entire school. They all already thought I was a joke. They didn't need you help to see that." Arthur snatched up an extra pair of shoes, stuffing them underneath his arm as he made his way towards the bedroom door. When he passed Alfred, their shoulders bumped roughly, almost knocking the distraught Brit off balance.

Alfred's mouth hung open, struggling to control his breathing as his heart beat wildly. He tried to make his jaw work, tried to form the words that were swirling violently around in his head, but nothing happened. He couldn't defend himself. He could barely even comprehend what it was Arthur hd just said. He just stood there and watched as Arthur gathered a few more things around the room before making his way to the door.

"I have a real friend to get to, so I'm leaving. Make sure you leave before Anderson comes home." Arthur turned his face away, his voice so low that Alfred had to strain himself to hear his next words. "You might have tricked me, but it's impossible for me to hate you."

Arthur's heavy footsteps echoed as he marched down the stairs. His mother was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She had taken the time to clean the makeup off her face, but you could still see the tear stains on her cheeks. Her eyeliner and mascara were still smeared around her eyes, but the watery smile she gave her son was full of welcoming and warmth.

Her smile dropped when she saw the tears falling down Arthur's cheeks. "Arthur, pumpkin, what's wrong? What happened?" She reached out to take her son in her arms, hoping that he would fall against her chest and let her hug away the pain like she had so many times before, but he simply just walked past her.

"I will be fine," Arthur murmured once he reached the front door. "I am going to Francis's. Please don't tell Anderson we were here. I love you, mom." He opened the door and stepped outside, letting it fall shut heavily behind him.

When Arthur lifted his eyes, he found Francis leaning against the hood of Alfred's truck. His hands were crossed over his chest, a soft smile on his lips. "I saw the boy's truck pull in. I had to come say goodbye to my best friend."

Arthur's tears were hot on his cheeks as they fell. With this duffel bag still slung over his shoulder and his shoes tucked underneath his arm, he walked forward and leaned his head against Francis's slim chest.

"I need you, Francis," he whispered. His voice was thick with tears. "You're the only one who hasn't tried to hurt me. Can I come back to your place?"

Francis's eyes widened. He lifted his arms and wrapped them around his friend. When he glanced up, he could see Alfred in the upstairs window. The blonde's head was pressed against the window, his hair ruffled and glasses askew.

 _What happened...?_ Francis wondered, his eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip around his friend. "Come on," he whispered, turning Arthur towards the end of the driveway.

* * *

"You need to take a shower."

Arthur rolled over on the bed, throwing the pillow over his head. "I took a shower at Alfred's," he mumbled. "I just want to sleep and forget about today."

Francis threw his damp towel over at the boy sprawled on his bed. The towel landed on Arthur's head. "You have eyeliner smeared on your neck and cheek. You need - "

" - can we watch a movie?" Arthur's voice was muffled. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over at Francis. He was standing by the bedroom door, tying the strings on a pair of silken, purple pajama pants. His chest was bare, his abdomen and chest covered in fine, blonde hair. "And can you _please_ put a shirt on? No one wants to see your froggy nakedness."

Francis ran his hands down his chest, his fingers brushing over his softly-defined abs and stopping at the hem of his pajama bottoms. He hooked his thumbs within the waistband, sliding his hands around the circumference of his hips. When he released his pants, they fell back in place, although slightly lower than they had been before.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, dropping his arms back down on the bed and burying his face in the pillow again.

"Actually, my dear friend," Francis purred as he sat on the edge of the bed. "A lot of people would love to see my ' _froggy nakedness_.'" His face twisted at his friend's choice of words. "You, poppet, are just weird. What movie would you like to watch?"

Arthur rolled over so his back was against the wall. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, thinking for a few seconds. Sad. He wanted sad.

"That movie about the striped pajamas," Arthur decided. "You can do that projecting thing your phone does, and we can watch it off the ceiling like we used to."

Francis repositioned himself on the bed, laying down so that his feet were hanging off the bed. With his phone in hand, he set up the projection and opened the movie. "So, you want to cry some more, then? You really are a strange kid, Kirkland."

The movie played. Halfway through, Arthur had switched his position so that his head was resting against Francis's hip. The Frenchman's fingers played with the tips of Arthur's hair as they watched the movie. The two young men were silent.

It was towards the end of the movie. Bruno was making a sandwich, climbing through the shed window when Arthur finally spoke.

" _Which one is it this time_?"

"Pardon?" Francis propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Arthur. From the angle he was at, he couldn't see anything beyond the mop of hair covering his eyes.

"That's what Alfred's brother said," Arthur explained. His voice was quiet as he spoke. He rolled over so that his face was pressed against Francis's bare stomach.

Francis placed a hand on the back of Arthur's head, massaging his fingers through the Brit's thick hair. A small, sad smile pulled at his lips. "Is that what you were so upset about, dear?"

Arthur groaned, moving his head in time with Francis's fingers. His voice was muffled as he spoke. "Of course. What if he really was lying and the only reason he brought me back to his house was to gain my trust so he could go through with that stupid deal he made? What if I'm just an idiot who cares too much for someone who doesn't deserve it? Francis, this boy has made me hate myself more than I ever did, and he wasn't even the one who did anything." As Arthur spoke, his voice grew in pitch, his breathing hitched, and sweat broke out all over his body. Thinking about it made his hands shake violently.

Francis sighed. "First of all, _mon petit_ , do not ever let me hear you say that you hate yourself. There will be none of that. You are an amazing - albeit boring - young man, and I will not stand for you to hate yourself when so many people care for you so deeply. If Alfred doesn't want you, then that is his loss. But, I must say, Matthew does have a tendency to say thing just to be mean when he smokes."

Arthur picked his head up, his wide green eyes searching Francis's blue ones. "How do you - ?"

Francis jumped up, spilling Arthur onto the floor. "Well, the movie is over," he announced. "We must be off to bed. Goodnight, dear friend. I will be downstairs on the couch if you need me." Francis grabbed his phone and the speaker he had the device hooked up to and began to make his way towards the bedroom door.

"Wait - uh, Francis?" Arthur called meekly. When Francis turned around, his eyes wide and questioning, Arthur gulped, swallowing past a large lump in his throat. "Uhm... today kind of sucked... So I was wondering... if..."

Francis sighed, chuckling slightly as he made his way back into the room. "Yes, Arthur, you incorrigible baby. That is fine with me." Thankfully, Francis's bed was large enough for the two men to fit comfortably side-by-side. Francis being Francis, however, refused to stay strictly to his side of the bed and found himself being tossed onto the floor numerous times throughout the night.


End file.
